£77 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON: 


His  LIFE,  WRITINGS,  AND  PHILOSOPHY 


BY 


GEORGE   WILLIS    COOKE. 


THE 

NI7EHSITY 


SECOND    EDITION, 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   R.  OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY. 

1882. 


Jfr 


COPYRIGHT,  1881, 
BT  GEORGE  WILLIS  COOKE. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Rand,  Avery,  <5r»  Co., 
7/7  Franklin  Street,  Boston. 


PS 


TO 

DEMPSTER   OSTRANDER, 
&  ftrue 


AND   A   GENUINE   LOVER   OF   BOOKS,   IN   WHOSE   LIBRARY 

I    FIRST    READ    AND    LEARNED    TO    LOVE 

THE   ESSAYS    OF   EMERSON, 

&5)fe  Uolume  10  Enact  tfalu 

IF   IT   MEET   WITH   HIS    APPROVAL,    I    SHALL 
BE    CONTENT. 


PREFACE. 


THE  following  pages  are  intended  as  an  introduction  to 
the  study  of  the  writings  of  Mr.  Emerson.  They  are  bio 
graphical  only  because  light  may  be  thrown  upon  his  books 
by  the  events  of  his  life.  Little  effort  has  been  made  to 
open  his  personal  history.  As  with  all  such  minds,  most 
of  what  is  truly  biographical  is  in  his  letters  and  diaries. 
Yet  the  life  of  Mr.  Emerson  has  been  in  his  thoughts,  and 
these  are  in  his  books. 

Such  has  been  his  influence  on  the  thought  and  life  of  our 
time,  some  word  ought  to  be  said  which  will  help  the  younger 
generation  to  a  fuller  understanding  of  the  debt  we  owe  him. 
With  the  hope  of  doing  this  service,  and  of  helping  many  to 
find  the  riches  contained  in  his  books,  the  following  pages 
were  written. 

The  work  attempted  here  has  been  solely  one  of  interpre 
tation,  and  not  of  defense  or  criticism.  No  effort  has  been 
made  to  measure  Mr.  Emerson's  philosophy  from  the  stand 
point  of  any  other.  While  the  author  does  not  always  accept 
that  philosophy  as  his  own,  he  has  ventured  not  to  intrude 
any  hint  of  it  into  his  interpretation.  He  has  attempted  to 
enter  into  its  spirit,  to  expound  it  from  the  stand-point  of 


yi  -  PREFACE. 

ardent  sympathy,  and  to  permit  Mr.  Emerson  to  speak  for 
himself  as  often  as  possible.  He  has  written  as  a  disciple 
rather  than  as  a  critic,  not  because  he  sees  nothing  to  criticise, 
but  because  he  feels  that  in  this  way  alone  can  full  justice  be 
done  the  subject.  That  he  is  sufficiently  the  disciple  to  have 
made  a  correct  delineation  of  the  man  and  his  teachings  he 
certainly  hopes  may  be  the  case. 

In  the  chapters  devoted  to  Mr.  Emerson's  philosophical 
and  religious  views,  frequent  reference  has  been  made  to 
those  who  have  held  similar  opinions.  This  is  done  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  a  clearer  insight  into  the  attitude  and  the 
affinities  of  his  thought.  The  quotations  introduced  are  in 
tended  as  helps  towards  a  truer  comprehension  of  the  subject, 
and  not  as  containing  opinions  which  Mr.  Emerson  would 
himself  always  accept.  Read  with  this  qualification,  it  is 
believed  they  will  throw  much  light  upon  his  speculations. 
They  should  be  read,  too,  as  implying  no  doubt  of  the  re 
markably  original  character  of  Mr.  Emerson's  philosophy. 

A  chapter  has  been  prepared  on  Mr.  Emerson's  reported 
abandonment  of  his  religious  position  of  former  years.  Ma 
ture  consideration  has  led  to  its  omission.  Mr.  Emerson 
needs  no  such  vindication.  An  attentive  perusal  of  the  fol 
lowing  pages,  it  is  believed,  will  prove  the  falsity  of  that 
report.  The  author  has  looked  carefully  into  the  subject, 
and  finds  it  to  be  entirely  without  confirmation. 

The  following  brief  statement  of  facts  concerning  the  two 
supposed  proofs  of  the  truth  of  this  report  is  sufficient  to 
prove  their  falsity.  The  appeal  to  Mr.  Emerson's  recently 
published  essays  is  rendered  nugatory  by  the  fact  that  those 
essays  were  all  written  many  years  ago,  long  before  any  one 


UNIVERSITY 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


I. 

ANCESTRY. 

THMERSON  believes  in  heredity,  that  "  people  are 
-Uj  born  with  the  moral  or  with  the  material  bias." 
He  can  well  believe  in  it,  for  it  has  done  much  in  his 
behalf.  ,  Broad  and  generous  culture,  a  strong  love_ of 
moral  excellence^  high  ancTpuFe  thoughts,  he  inherited 
from  his  Torefathers.  Burroughs  "says  l  his  culture  is 
ante-natal,  and  it  is  certain  that  his  ancestry  had  in 
it  the  promise  of  much  which  his  life  has  fulfilled. 
If  heredity  had  no  exceptions,  his  would  be  an  admira 
ble  instance  of  its  laws  of  operation.  He  is  such  a, 
man  as  might  be  looked  for  in  the  case  of  such  an 
ancestry ;  rather,  his  is  such  an  ancestry  as  we  would 
look  for  in  the  case  of  such  a  man. 

I  Eight  generations  of  cultured,  conscientious,  and  ^ 
practical  ministers  preceded  him.  jln  each  generation 
tBey  held  tFTe  most  acfvanced  positions  in  religious 
thought ;  and  to  write  their  history,  especially  in  their 
relations  to  the  religious  movements  with  which  they 
were  connected,  would  be  to  write  the  history  of  New^ 
England  religion.)  Emerson  is  no  more  physically  the 
child  of  Uis  Puritan  ancestors  than  he  is  intellectually 
and  spiritually.  \  When  the  generations  which  preceded 
him  are  remembered,  we  can  better  understand  why  - 
there  should  be  this  fine  bloom  of  thought  in  the ) 

i  Birds  and  Poets,  p.  195. 


2  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

western  world ;  and  we  then  find  how  native  is  the  best 
in  his  culture  and  thought. 

The  historian  of  Concord1  has  traced  Emerson's 
ancestry  back  to  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  cen 
tury,  when  one  of  the  English  barons,  who  secured 
Magna  Charta  of  King  John,  was  Lord  Manor  of 
Bulkeley,  in  the  county  of  Chester.  His  name  was 
Robert  Bulkeley ;  and  Shattuck  gives  the  names  of  his 
descendants  down  to  Edward  Bulkeley,  D.D.,  who  was 
rector  at  Woodhill,  Bedfordshire,  in  the  last  quarter  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  who  wrote  a  supplement  to 
Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs.  The  family  was  one  of  some 
importance ;  a  member  of  it  having  been  a  prominent 
co-worker  with  Cromwell,  and  several  others  were  en 
nobled.  Edward  was  a  faithful  pastor  and  preacher, 
and  seems  to  have  been  the  first  of  the  family  to  enter 
this  profession.  One  of  his  sons,  Peter,  was  born  at 
Odell,  Bedfordshire,  Jan.  31,  1582.  He  was  admitted 
to  St.  John's  College,  Oxford,  at  the  age  of  sixteen, 
and,  in  due  course  of  time,  succeeded  to  his  father's 
pulpit  and  benefice.  Like  many  of  the  other  preachers 
of  the  time,  he  was  a  Puritan  in  his  tendencies,  and  did 
not  conform  to  the  church  service.  His  bishop  con 
nived  at  this,  and  permitted  it  for  twenty-five  years, 
when  the  matter  was  brought  to  the  attention  of  Arch 
bishop  Laud,  who  at  once  silenced  him.  In  conse 
quence,  he  decided  to  come  to  America ;  and  many 
members  of  his  congregation  bore  him  company.  He 
was  a  man  of  prominence  and  ability,  a  capable  leader 
of  men,  and  competent  to  guide  in  the  enterprise  of 
forming  a  new  town  in  the  wilds  of  America.  He 
landed  in  Boston  late  in  the  year  1634,  and  remained 
in  Newtown,  afterwards  Cambridge,  for  nearly  a  year. 
Of  the  reasons  for  coming  to  America,  Emerson  has 
said, — 

"  The  best  friend  the  Massachusetts  colony  had,  though  much 
.i  ;ain-t  his  will,  was  Archbishop  Laud  in  England.  "In  conse 
quence  of  his  famous  proclamation  set  tin;;'  up  certain  novelties  in 
the  rites  of  public  worship,  fifty  godly  ministers  were  suspended 

1  A  History  of  tin;  Town  of  Concord,  by  Lemuel  Shattuck. 


ANCESTRY.  3 

for  contumacy  in  the  course  of  two  years  and  a  half.  Hindered 
from  speaking,  some  of  these  dared  to  print  the  reasons  of  their 
dissent,  and  were  punished  with  imprisonment  or  mutilation. 
This  severity  brought  some  of  the  best  men  in  England  to  over 
come  that  natural  repugnance  to  emigration  which  holds  the  serious 
and  moderate  of  every  nation  to  their  own  soil.  Among  the 
silenced  clergymen  was  a  distinguished  minister  of  Woodhill  in 
Bedfordshire,  Rev.  Peter  Bulkeley,  descended  from  a  noble  family, 
honored  for  his  own  virtues,  his  learning,  and  gifts  as  a  preacher, 
and  adding  to  his  influence  the  weight  of  a  large  estate.  Persecu 
tion  readily  knits  friendship  between  its  victims.  Mr.  Bulkeley, 
having  turned  his  estate  into  money,  and  set  his  face  towards  New 
England,  was  easily  able  to  persuade  a  good  number  of  planters  to 
join  him.  They  arrived  in  Boston  in  1634.  Probably  there  had 
been  a  previous  correspondence  with  Gov.  Winthrop,  and  an  agree 
ment  that  they  should  settle  at  Musketaquid.  With  them  joined 
Mr.  Simon  Willard,  a  merchant  from  Kent  in  England.  They 
petitioned  the  General  Court  for  the  grant  of  a  township  ;  and  on 
the  2d  of  September,  1635,  corresponding  in  new  style  to  12tb 
September,  leave  to  begin  a  plantation  at  Musketaquid  was  given  to 
Peter  Bulkeley,  Simon  Willard,  and  about  twelve  families  more. 
A  month  later,  Rev.  John  Jones  and  a  large  number  of  settlers 
destined  for  the  new  town  arrived  in  Boston."  1 

The  General  Court  granted  the  settlers  important 
privileges,  as  this  was  to  be  the  first  inland  town  above 
tide-water ;  adding,  "  and  the  name  of  the  place  is 
changed,  and  hereafter  to  be  called  Concord."  The 
Indian  name  was  Musketaquid.  In  the  autumn  of 
1635  the  settlement  was  begun.  The  perils  were 
many ;  for  Watertown  and  Cambridge  were  the  nearest 
towns,  and  all  around  was  the  wilderness.  There  were 
discouragements  and  hardships  many ;  and  there  was  a 
division  of  the  colony  after  a  few  years,  Rev.  John 
Jones  and  many  others  going  to  Connecticut.  Under 
the  skillful  leadership  of  Bulkeley,  who  became  the 
pastor  and  teacher,  the  town  was  gradually  settled,  and 
began  to  prosper.  Bulkeley  brought  with  him  six  thou 
sand  pounds ;  but  he  exercised  great  benevolence,  help 
ing  each  of  his  servants  to  the  possession  of  a  farm. 
He  was  greatly  beloved  arid  respected  by  his  people, 
and  was  "  addressed  as  father,  prophet,  or  counselor  by 

1  A  Historical  Discourse  delivered  before  the  citizens  of  Concord, 
12th  September,  1835,  on  the  second  centennial  anniversary  of  the  incor 
poration  of  the  town.  Reprinted  in  1876. 


4  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

them  and  all  the  ministers  of  the  country."  He  was  of 
a  resolute  purpose,  a  strong  will,  quick  in  temper  and 
sharp  of  tongue,  courteous  and  kind  in  manner,  a  genu 
ine  Puritan,  dressing  with  rigid  plainness,  wearing  his 
hair  very  short,  and  was  devoutly  faithful  in  the  dis 
charge  of  all  the  duties  of  his  profession.  He  was  an 
earnest  and  eloquent  preacher.  Cotton  Mather  said 
"  he  was  a  most  exalted  Christian,  full  of  those  devo 
tions  which  accompany  a  conversation  in  heaven,  and 
conscientious  even  to  a  degree  of  scrupulosity."  He 
was  one  of  the  best  scholars  among  the  early  colonists, 
and  is  said  by  Mather  to  have  had  "  a  competently  good 
stroke  at  Latin  poetry."  l 

The  Concord  church  was  organized  in  Cambridge, 
July  15,  1G36 ;  and  in  April  of  the  next  year  Bulkeley 
was  installed  as  teacher,  and  Jones  as  pastor.  The  con 
troversy  raised  by  Mrs.  Hutchinson  was  exciting  atten 
tion  at  this  time ;  so  that  "  the  governor,  and  Mr.  Cotton, 
and  Mr.  Wheelwright,  and  the  two  ruling  elders  of  Bos 
ton,  and  the  rest  of  that  church  which  were  of  any  note, 
did  not  come  "  to  this  installation,  as  Winthrop  says. 
The  persons  he  names  Averc  the  leaders  of  the  Anti- 
nomian  party,  mainly  confined  to  the  Boston  church, 
though  to  be  found  in  most  of  the  other  churches ;  and 
they  were  the  advocates  of  a  covenant  of  grace,  claim 
ing  that  God  performs  all  the  work  of  regeneration,  and 
maintaining  that  the  Holy  Spirit  becomes  an  actual 
presence  in  the  heart  of  the  true  believer.  They  called 
the  other  party  Legalists,  accused  them  of  recognizing 
only  a  covenant  of  works,  and  of  not  having  entered 
into  the  true  spirit  of  the  gospel.  This  controversy 
raged  with  such  vehemence,  and  the  tenets  of  the  Bos 
ton  church  became  so  repugnant  to  most  of  the  other 
churches,  that  a  synod  was  called  in  the  autumn.  Ow 
ing  to  his  reputation  for  learning  and  moderation,  and 
t;>  his  high  social  standing,  Bulkeley  was  chosen  one  of 
the  moderators.  It  suppressed  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  her 
esy,  and  drove  her  and  her  followers  from  the  colony ; 

1  Duycldnck  gives  a  specimen  of  his  verse  in  his  Cyclopedia  of 
American  Literature. 


ANCESTRY.  5 

while  Cotton  acknowledged  his  error,  and  Vane  went 
back  to  England,  to  lose  his  life  in  the  cause  of  liberty. 
This  controversy,  however,  continued  for  many  years, 
and  led  to  the  publication  of  a  remarkable  volume  of 
controversial  theology  by  Peter  Bulkeley,  in  1646.  It 
bore  the  title  of  "  The  Gospel  Covenant ;  or,  the  Cove 
nant  of  Grace  opened,  wherein  are  explained :  1.  The 
difference  between  the  covenant  of  grace,  and  covenant 
of  works.  2.  The  different  administration  of  the  cov 
enant  before  and  since  Christ.  3.  The  benefits  and 
blessings  of  it.  4.  The  conditions.  5.  The  properties 
of  it.  Preached  at  Concord,  in  New  England,  by  Peter 
Bulkeley,  some  time  fellow  of  Saint  John's  College 
in  Cambridge."  It  deals  elaborately  with  these  prob 
lems,  maintaining  the  superiority  of  the  covenant  of 
grace,  but  claiming  that  the  covenant  of  works  is  still 
in  force,  —  that  while  we  are  saved  by  grace  we  must 
show  forth  the  effects  of  that  grace  by  a  life  of  good 
works.  He  makes  frequent  mention  of  the  controversy 
of  the  time,  and  condemns  with  strong  language  of  con 
tempt  those  who  maintain  a  constant  indwelling  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  an  immediate  sanctification  by  the 
work  of  grace.  Its  strong  reasoning,  sound  common 
sense,  and  earnest  piety  must  have  made  it  acceptable 
reading  in  those  days ;  and  a  new  and  enlarged  edition 
was  published  in  1651.  Tyler  says  this  book  was  "  one 
of  those  massive,  exhaustive,  ponderous  treatises  into 
which  the  Puritan  theologians  put  their  enormous  bib 
lical  learning,  their  acumen,  their  industry,  the  fervor, 
pathos,  and  consecration  of  their  lives.  The  style, 
though  angular,  sharp-edged,  carved  into  formal  divis 
ions,  and  stiff  with  the  embroidery  of  scriptural  texts, 
is,  upon  the  whole,  direct  and  strong."  1  It  is  a  very 
good  specimen  of  the  thought  and  preaching  of  the 
time,  and  no  clearer  statement  can  be  found  of  the 
main  points  of  Puritan  theology  and  church  govern 
ment. 

Peter  Bulkeley  died  March  9,  1659,  and  was   suc- 

1  History  of  American  Literature,  vol.  i.  p.  17. 


6  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

ceeded  in  the  Concord  pastorate  by  his  son  Edward, 
who  was  born  and  educated  in  England.  Edward  was 
a  man  of  remarkable  piety  and  devotion ;  and,  following 
in  the  ways  of  his  father,  made  poetry  when  occasion 
demanded.  In  his  time  occurred  King  Philip's  war; 
but  the  Indians  spared  the  town,  because,  they  said,  the 
Great  Spirit  loved  the  Concord  people,  for  Mr.  Bulkeley 
was  a  -great  pray."  A  large  settlement  of  Indians 
had  been  formed  within  the  limits  of  Concord,  where 
Eliot  labored,  and  a  thriving  church  had  been  gathered 
among  them.  This  terrible  war,  however,  cooled  the 
missionary  zeal  of  the  Concord  people  ;  while  the  Indian 
settlement  was  nearly  destroyed,  and  never  flourished 
again.  Edward  Bulkeley,  though  lame  and  of  a  feeble 
constitution,  was  much  respected  for  his  talents,  irre 
proachable  character,  and  piety.  His  daughter  Eliza 
beth  became  the  second  wife  of  the  Rev.  Joseph  Emer 
son  of  Mendon  in  16G5.  The  Emerson  family  was  a 
very  honorable  one  of  Durham  or  York,  a  member  of 
it  being  knighted  by  Henry  VIII.  It  had  long  been  a 
family  of  ministers.  Thomas  Emerson  of  Ipswich  came 
to  America  about  the  year  1635,  and  was  the  first  of 
the  family  in  this  country.  His  son  Joseph  preached 
in  Ipswich  for  a  short  time,  then  settled  in  Wells  for 
two  or  three  years,  and  became  the  first  minister  in 
Mendon  in  1G67  ;  when  that  town  was  destroyed,  dur 
ing  King  Philip's  war,  he  went  to  Concord,  and  there 
died  Jan.  3,  1680.  His  son  Edward,  born  in  Concord 
in  1670,  married  Rebecca  Waldo  of  Chelmsford  in  1697. 
The  Waldo  family  had  been  London  merchants,  and 
were  descended  from  a  stock  of  the  Waldenses. 

Ed \vard  Emerson  had  a  son  Joseph,  who  entered 
Harvard  College  in  his  fourteenth  year,  graduated  in 
1717,  and  began  to  preach  when  he  was  eighteen,  uto 
general  acceptance."  He  was  ordained  in  Maiden  Oct. 
31,  1721,  and  preached  there  forty-five  years,  being  out 
of  his  pulpit  only  two  Sundays  in  all  that  time.  He 
married  Mary,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Samuel  Moody  of 
Maine,  and  died  in  1767.  His  son  Joseph  was  the  first 
pastor  of  Pepperell ;  while  another  son,  William,  was 


ANCESTRY.  7 

the  pastor  of  the  Concord  church  at  the  outbreak  of 
the  Revolutionary  War. 

Edward  Bulkeley  was  succeeded  by  his  colleague, 
the  Rev.  Joseph  Estabrook,  who  died  in  1711.  The 
next  Concord  pastor  was  the  Rev.  John  Whiting,  who 
was  dismissed  after  twenty-one  years'  service.  He  was 
succeeded  by  Daniel  Bliss,  whose  daughter  married 
the  first  William  Emerson.  Bliss  is  well  described  by 
the  epitaph  in  one  of  the  Concord  cemeteries,  — 

"  Of  this  beloved  Disciple  and  Minister  of  Jesus  Christ  'tis 
justly  observable,  that,  in  addition  to  his  natural  and  acquired 
abilities,  he  was  distinguishedly  favoured  with  those  eminent  Graces 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  (Meekness,  Humility,  and  Zeal)  which  render 
him  peculiarly  fit  for  and  enabled  him  to  go  thro'  the  great  and 
arduous  work  of  the  Gospel  Ministry,  upon  which  he  entered  in 
the  25th  year  of  his  age.  The  Duties  of  the  various  Characters 
he  sustained  in  life  were  performed  with  great  strictness  and  fidel 
ity.  As  a  private  Christian,  he  was  a  bright  Example  of  Holiness 
in  Life  and  Purity  in  Conversation.  But  in  the  execution  of  ye 
ministerial  office  he  shone  with  Peculiar  Lustre ;  a  spirit  of  Devo 
tion  animated  all  his  performances ;  his  Doctrine  drop'd  as  ye  Rain, 
and  his  lips  distilled  like  the  Dew ;  his  Preaching  was  powerful 
and  searching;  and  he  who  blessed  him  with  an  uncommon 
Talent  in  a  particular  Application  to  ye  Consciences  of  men, 
crowned  his  skilful  endeavor  with  great  success.  As  ye  work  of 
the  Ministry  was  his  great  Delight,  so  he  continued  fervent  and 
diligent  in  ye  Performance  of  it,  till  his  Divine  Lord  called  him 
from  his  Service  on  Earth  to  the  Glorious  Recompense  of  Reward 
in  Heaven,  where,  as  one  who  has  turned  many  unto  Righteous 
ness,  he  shines  as  a  star  for  ever  and  ever." 

Another  religious  controversy  came  at  this  time,  and 
was  heartily  joined  in  by  the  Concord  pastor.  It  was 
caused  by  the  great  revival  of  1740,  arid  the  demand 
of  Jonathan  Edwards  that  only  converted  persons 
should  be  admitted  to  the  churches.  It  was  really  a 
renewal  of  that  discussion  in  which  Peter  Bulkeley  had 
taken  part,  and  which  had  constantly  continued,  in  one 
form  or  other,  to  agitate  the  New-England  churches, 
in  spite  of  the  banishment  of  Roger  Williams,  Ann 
Hutcl.'nson,  the  Quakers,  and  many  others  who  depart 
ed  from  the  accepted  forms  of  faith.  Rigid  as  was  the 
Puritan  theology,  it  had  in  it  the  elements  of  the  wid- 


8  KALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

est  liberality,  as  was  shown  by  the  many  in  each  gener 
ation  who  doubted  one  or  more  of  its  tenets,  or  who 
sought  for  more  liberal  methods  of  church  government. 
This  spirit  of  dissent  and  doubt,  the  tendency  to  ration 
alize  religion,  and  to  express  it  in  moral  teachings,  grew 
to  a  considerable  strength.  In  time  there  followed  a 
re-action,  led  by  Jonathan  Edwards;  and  the  doctrine 
of  grace  again  asserted  itself.  A  great  religious  awak 
ening  began  in  Edwards's  church  about  the  year  1735, 
which  swept  through  New  England.  It  was  aided  by 
Whitefield  8  efforts,  and  many  of  the  pastors  joined  in 
it.  It  revived  the  spirit  of  devotion,  but  caused  much 
religious  controversy.  Among  those  who  joined  most 
ardently  in  its  promotion  was  Daniel  Bliss,  who  is  said 
to  have  introduced  into  the  Concord  church,  with  his 
settlement  there  in  1738,  "a  new  style  of  preaching, — 
bold,  zealous,  impassioned,  and  enthusiastic,  forming  a 
striking  contrast  to  that  the  church  had  previously 
enjoyed."  1  Whitefield  preached  there  in  the  autumn 
of  1741  to  a  great  crowd  of  people,  and  he  came  again 
later.  Religious  meetings  were  held  every  day  in  the 
week,  many  persons  joined  the  church,  and  there  was  a 
great  excitement.  Bliss  went  frequently  to  preach  in 
other  churches,  while  strong  opposition  was  made  to 
some  of  his  doctrinal  teachings.  A  council  was  soon 
called  to  confer  with  dissatisfied  brethren,  but  no  result 
was  reached.  Other  councils  followed  in  rapid  succes 
sion,  in  one  of  which  twenty-two  articles  of  grievance 
were  brought  against  Bliss  by  his  opposers.  He  was 
accused  of  preaching  the  doctrines  of  election  and  total 
depravity,  and  of  saying  that  "  it  was  as  great  a  sin  for 
a  man  to  get  an  estate  by  honest  labor,  if  he  had  not 
a  single  aim  at  the  glory  of  God,  as  to  get  it  by  gaming 
at  cards  or  dice."  There  were  other  charges,  all  of 
them  showing  him  to  have  been  a  decided  Calvinist. 
A  clergyman  who  visited  Concord  in  1742,  and  con 
versed  with  the  opposers  of  Bliss,  wrote  in  his  journal, 
"I  find  they  are  rank  Arminians."2  The  result  was 

i  Shattuck.  2  I\M.,  p.  173.  . 


ANCESTRY.  9 

that  forty-seven  members  seceded  and  farmed  another 
church,  which  continued  in  existence  about  fourteen 
years.  Elsewhere  throughout  the  country  bitter  con 
troversies  followed  the  revival,  and  resulted  in  the 
development  of  a  still  greater  amount  of  heresy.  "  The 
genuine  principles  of  religion,"  says  the  Concord  histo 
rian,  "  obtained  little  influence  during  the  progress  of 
the  controversies  in  town.  Great  apathy  prevailed." 
Even  in  Edwards's  own  church,  so  strong  was  the  op 
position  to  his  Calvinism,  that  a  serious  division  result 
ed,  and  he  was  compelled  to  resign  in  1750.  The 
revivalists  claimed  that  Socinianism  was  at  work  in  the 
churches,  and  the  party  which  opposed  them  was  strong 
and  very  influential.  Books  opposed  to  the  doctrine 
of  the  trinity  soon  began  to  be  circulated,  while  the 
spirit  of  free  inquiry  rapidly  developed. 

The  tendencies  of  thought  at  this  time,  and  the 
strength  of  the  liberal  party,  may  be  seen  in  the  fact, 
that,  when  Daniel  Bliss  died  in  1764,  he  was  succeeded 
the  next  year  by  William  Emerson,  who  was  a  very 
moderate  Calvinist.  There  was  some  opposition  to 
his  settlement ;  but  his  piety,  zeal,  and  discretion  soon 
united  the  church,  and  made  it  strong  and  prosperous. 
He  was  born  in  1743,  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1761, 
and  married  Phebe  Bliss,  daughter  of  the  former  pas 
tor,  Aug.  21, 1766.  The  house  now  known  as  the  "  Old 
Manse  "  was  built  for  him  in  1767,  and  was  occupied 
by  him  a  year  after  his  marriage.  Hawthorne  says  that 
"  in  its  near  retirement  and  accessible  seclusion  it  was 
the  very  spot  for  the  residence  of  a  clergyman."  Very 
soon  the  difficulties  with  England  began,  and  he  was 
zealously  devoted  to  the  cause  of  the  colonists.  He 
was  made  the  chaplain  of  the  Continental  Congress. 
"  The  cause  of  the  colonies  was  so  much  in  his  heart," 
says  his  grandson,  "that  he  did  not  cease  to  make  it  the 
subject  of  his  preaching  and  his  prayers,  and  is  said  to 
have  deeply  inspired  many  of  his  people  with  his  own 
enthusiasm."  l  He  induced  many  of  his  people  to  enlist 

i  Centennial  address  of  1835. 


10  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSOX. 

by  his  preaching ;  and,  on  the  occasion  of  a  general  re 
view  of  the  military,  he  aroused  a  great  enthusiasm  by 
his  sermon.  On  the  Sunday  before  the  British  soldiers 
marched  into  Concord,  he  preached  earnestly  on  "  Re 
sistance  to  tyrants  in  obedience  to  God ; "  and  011  the 
morning  of  the  fight  he  exhorted  the  people  to  resist 
ance  at  all  hazards.  When  the  minute-men  marched 
by  his  house  across  the  river  to  protect  the  stores  in 
that  direction,  and  to  await  aid  from  the  surrounding 
towns,  they  compelled  him  to  remain  at  home ;  but  he 
witnessed  the  light  at  the  bridge,  which  was  only  a 
dozen  rods  from  his  own  door.  When  the  British  had 
retreated  through  the  town,  he  sallied  forth  to  care  for 
the  wounded,  and  to  cheer  on  the  people.  On  the  16th 
of  August,  1776,  he  left  Concord  to  join  the  army  at 
Ticonderoga  ;  but  he  was  soon  attacked  with  a  fever  in 
cident  to  army  life.  He  was  advised  to  return  home,  but 
only  reached  the  neighborhood  of  Rutland,  Vt.,  where 
he  died  Oct.  20,  1776.  His  "  personal  appearance  was 
pleasing  and  prepossessing;  his  manners  familiar  and 
gentlemanly  ;  his  conversation  communicative  and  face 
tious,  though  not  inconsistent  with  his  ministerial 
character ;  in  his  preaching  lie  was  popular,  eloquent, 
persuasive,  and  devotional,  adapting  himself  with  re 
markable  ease  to  all  circumstances  and  occasions ;  and 
his  doctrine  was  evangelical."  l 

In  1778  Ezra  Ripley  became  the  Concord  pastor,  and 
two  years  later  he  married  the  widow  of  William  Em 
erson.  He  continued  for  sixty-three  years  his  connec 
tion  with  the  Concord  church,  dying  Sept.  21,  1841. 
In  his  house  Emerson  spent  many  of  his  boyhood  days, 
while  both  he  and  his  brothers  were  greatly  loved  by 
Ripley.  After  his  death  Emerson  described  him  in 
these  words :  — 

"  lie  was  a  man  so  kind  and  sympathetic,  his  character  was  so 
transparent,  and  his  merits  so  intelligible  to  all  observers,  that  he 
was  justly  appreciated  in  this  community.  He  was  a  natural 
gentleman;  courtly,  hospitable,  manly,  and  public  spirited;  his 
nature  social,  his  house  open  to  all  men.  .  .  .  His  friends  were  his 

1  Shattuck 


ANCESTRY.  11 

study,  and  to  see  them  loosened  his  talents  and  his  tongue.  In 
his  house  dwelt  order  and  prudence  and  plenty ;  there  was  no 
waste  and  no  stint;  he  was  open-handed  and  just  and  generous. 
.  .  .  He  was  never  distinguished  in  the  pulpit  as  a  writer  of  ser 
mons  ;  but,  in  his  house,  his  speech  was  form  and  pertinence  itself. 
You  felt  in  his  presence  that  he  belonged  by  nature  to  the  clerical 
class.  ...  With  a  very  limited  acquaintance  with  books,  his 
knowledge  was  an  external  experience,  an  Indian  wisdom,  the 
observation  of  such  facts  as  country  life  for  nearly  a  century  could 
supply.  ...  He  knew  everybody's  grandfather,  and  seemed  to 
talk  with  each  person,  rather  as  the  representative  of  his  house 
and  name  than  as  an  individual.  In  him  has  perished  more  local 
tradition  and  personal  anecdote  of  this  village  and  vicinity  than  is 
possessed  by  any  survivor.  This  intimate  knowledge  of  families, 
and  this  skill  of  speech,  and  still  more  his  sympathy,  made  him 
incomparable  in  his  parochial  visits,  and  in  his  exhortations  and 

Erayers  with  sick  and  suffering  persons.  He  gave  himself  up  to 
is  feeling,  and  said  on  the  instant  the  best  things  in  the  world. 
Many  and  many  a  felicity  he  had  in  his  prayer,  now  for  ever  lost, 
which  defied  all  the  rules  of  all  the  rhetoricians.  He  did  not  know 
when  he  was  good  in  prayer  or  sermon,  for  he  had  no  literature 
and  no  art ;  but  he  believed,  and  therefore  spoke.  He  was  emi 
nently  loyal  in  his  nature,  and  not  fond  of  adventure  or  innovation. 
By  education,  and  still  more  by  temperament,  he  was  engaged  to 
the  old  forms  of  the  New-England  church.  Not  speculative,  but 
affectionate,  devout,  with  an  extreme  love  of  order,  he  adopted 
heartily,  though  in  its  mildest  forms,  the  creed  and  catechism  of 
the  fathers,  and  appeared  a  modern  Israelite  in  his  attachment  to 
the  Hebrew  history  and  faith.  Thus  he  seemed,  in  his  constitu 
tional  leaning  to  their  religion,  one  of  the  rear-guard  of  the  great 
camp  and  army  of  the  Puritans ;  and  now,  when  all  the  platforms 
and  customs  of  the  church  were  losing  their  hold  in  the  affections 
of  men,  it  was  fit  that  he  should  depart ;  fit  that,  in  the  fall  of  laws, 
a  loyal  man  should  die." l 

In  his  earlier  years  Ripley  leaned  toward  Arminian- 
ism,  and  when  this  movement  culminated  in  Unitarian- 
ism  he  became  identified  with  it.  In  that  result  the 
Concord  church  found  the  logical  outcome  of  all  its 
tendencies  from  the  very  first. 

William  Emerson  had  one  son  and  four  daughters, 
who  came  under  the  fatherly  care  of  Dr.  Ripley,  after 
his  marriage  with  their  mother.  The  son,  William,  was 
born  May  6,  1769.  He  entered  Harvard  College  in  his 

1  Concord  Republican,  Oct.  1,  1841;  reprinted  in  connection  with  the 
sermons  at  Dr.  Elpley's  funeral,  and  again  as  the  substance  of  a  letter 
in  Sprague's  Annals  of  the  American  Unitarian  Pulpit,  p.  117. 


12  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

seventeenth  year,  and  graduated  in  1789,  "with  a  high 
reputation  as  a  classical  scholar,  a  close  student,  and  a 
man  of  good  taste  in  composition  and  rhetoric."  Dur 
ing  the  year  of  his  graduation  he  delivered  an  oration 
before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  which  was  very 
favorably  received.  He  then  spent  two  years  in  Rox- 
bury  as  a  teacher;  when  he  went  to  Cambridge  for  a 
few  months,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  the 
ology.  In  1792  he  received  a  call  to  settle  in  Harvard, 
and  was  ordained  there  May  23,  Dr.  Riplcy  preaching 
the  sermon.  He  was  married  to  Ruth  ILiskins  of 
Boston  Oct.  25,  1796.  Having  given  much  atten 
tion  to  elocution  and  oratory,  ulris  pulpit  talents  were 
considered  extraordinary."  Being  invited  to  Boston, 
in  1799,  to  deliver  the  artillery  election  sermon,  his 
talents  attracted  so  much  attention  as  to  secure  him  a 
call  to  settle  with  the  First  Church  there.  He  was 
installed  Oct.  16,  1799.  Here  he  soon  became  known 
as  one  of  the  most  accomplished  pulpit  orators,  and 
as  one  of  the  best  writers,  of  his  time.  He  nearly 
completed  an  interesting  history  of  the  First  Church, 
which  was  published  after  his  death,  with  two  of  his 
sermons.  In  all,  about  fifteen  of  his  sermons  were 
printed,  showing  him  to  have  been  a  clear,  strong,  and 
tasteful  writer.  They  were  devout,  earnest,  and  prac 
tical,  and  popular  in  style.  He  also  published  a  selec 
tion  of  hymns  and  psalms  for  church  use.  He  was  one 
of  the  most  liberal  of  the  Boston  ministers  of  his  time. 
"  Far  from  having  any  sympathy  with  Calvinism,"  says 
Dr.  Lowell;1  but  he  never  preached  doctrines,  even  in 
t^o  mildest  form.  His  son  has  said  that  he  inclined 
"  obviously  to  what  is  ethical  and  universal  in  Chris 
tianity  ;  very  little  to  the  personal  and  historical."  "I 
think  I  observe  in  his  writings,  as  in  the  writings  of  the 
Unitarians  down  to  a  recent  date,  a  studied  reserve  on 
the  subject  of  the  nature  and  offices  of  Jesus.  They 
had  not  made  up  their  minds  on  it.  It  was  a  mystery 
to  them,  and  they  let  it  remain  so."  2  In  his  personal 

1  Sprague's  Annals. 

2  Letter  in  Sprague's  Annals  of  the  Unitarian  Pulpit,  p.  244,  under 
date  of  Oct.  5,  1&49. 


ANCESTKY.  13 

appearance  he  is  said  to  have  been  "  much  more  than 
ordinarily  attractive.  He  had  a  melodious  voice,  his 
utterance  was  distinct,  and  his  whole  manner  in  the 
pulpit  was  agreeable."  Dr.  Lowell  says  he  was  "a 
handsome  man,  rather  tall,  with  a  fair  complexion,  his 
cheeks  slightly  tinted,  his  motions  easy,  graceful,  and 
gentlemanlike,  his  manner  bland  and  pleasant.  He  was 
always  an  acceptable  preacher ;  and  his  delivery  was 
distinct  and  correct,  and  was  evidently  the  result  of 
much  care  and  discipline."  l  In  1808  he  was  seized 
with  a  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  from  which  he  never 
fully  recovered.  In  1810  another  disease  took  hold  of 
his  already  weakened  body,  from  which  he  died  May 
12,  1811. 

He  was  one  of  a  company  of  remarkable  preachers, 
who  gave  a  new  character  to  the  religious  life  of  Boston, 
who  aroused  a  taste  for  classical  learning,  and  who  in 
augurated  the  first  literary  period  in  New-England 
history.  Most  prominent  of  these  men  were  Buck- 
minster,  Kirkland,  C'hanning,  Thacher,  and  Emerson. 
They  were  all  liberal  in  their  theology,  discarding  Cal 
vinism  by  silently  ignoring  it.  They  appealed  to  the 
sentiments,  sought  to  mold  the  moral  and  spiritual 
nature  in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  and 
were  literary  in  their  tastes.  That  brilliant  star  of  the 
American  pulpit,  who  shone  for  so  short  a  time,  Buck- 
minster,  collected  a  large  library  in  Europe,  had  a 
passionate  love  of  classical  learning,  and  quickened 
many  minds  with  his  own  tastes  and  aspirations. 

In  the  year  1803  a  periodical  was  talked  of  at  Har 
vard  College,  which  should  represent  higher  learning  and 
cultivate  a  more  literary  taste.  After  much  opposition 
from  those  who  feared  it  might  become  too  philosophical, 
or  an  aid  in  the  formation  of  secret  societies,  much  feared 
then,  a  quarterly  was  started,  known  as  The  Literary 
Miscellany.  John  Quincy  Adams,  Andrews  Norton, 
and  Buckminster  were  among  its  leading  writers.  After 
a  time,  the  name  was  changed  to  The  Monthly  Anthol 

1  Sprague's  Annals. 


14  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

ogy;  and  it  was  published  in  Boston.  The  first  num 
ber  there  bore  date  of  November,  1803;  arid  David 
Phineas  Adams  was  the  editor.  In  May.  I-"  04.  William 
Emerson  became  its  editor;  and  he  continued  in  that 
office  for  about  one  year  and  a  half.  Oct.  3,  1805.  a 
club  was  formed  for  the  purpose  of  editing  and  publish 
ing  tins  magazine,  and  took  the  name  of  The  Anthology 
Club.  Its  first  members  included  the  Rev.  Dr.  Gardiner, 
Emerson,  Buckminster,  Tuckerman.  S.  C.  Thacher,  and 
E.  T.  Dana.  The  Rev.  J.  S.  J.  Gardiner  was  made 
the  first  president,  the  Rev.  William  Emerson  vice- 
president,  and  S.  C.  Thacher  editor.  Thacher  was 
afterwards  librarian  of  Harvard  College  and  pastor  of 
the  New  South  Church  in  Boston.  The  club  met  on 
Thursday  evenings,  and  became  one  of  the  most  notable 
gatherings  of  the  city.  It  discussed  literary  themes,  and 
edited  the  magazine.  Much  difficulty  was  found  in 
securing  suitable  articles,  its  members  doing  much  gra 
tuitous  work  in  its  behalf.  It  contained,  however,  many 
valuable  articles,  and  exercised  a  lasting  influence  on  <- 
the  culture  of  Boston.  Buckminster  wrote  much  and 
ably  for  it ;  and  Channing,  Kirkland,  Richard  H.  Dana, 
Adams,  and  Norton  were  frequent  contributors.  In  July, 
1811,  both  M'-mtJtly  and  club  expired  together,  but  not 
until  they  had  developed  a  new  interest  in  literature, 
and  largely  aided  in  the  promotion  of  the  liberal  the 
ology.  On  the  motion  of  Emerson,  the  club  established 
a  library  of  periodical  literature,  which  grew  into  the 
Boston  Athenajum. 

Alike  in  the  history  of  his  family,  and  in  the  history 
of  New-England  thought,  do  we  find  the  sources  of 
Emerson's  culture.  iThe  Emerson  family  were  intellec 
tual,  eloquent,  with  a  strong  individuality  of  character, 
and  robust  and  vigorous  in  their  thinking.^)  They  were 
pious  and  devout,  but  also  practical  and  philanthropic. 
Mure  than  fifty  of  the  family  have  graduated  at  New- 
England  colleges,  and  twenty  have  been  ministers.^  His 
mother's  family  were  noted  for  a  remarkable  spirituality 
of  temperament,  for  great  religious  zeal,  and  were 
naturally  mystics  or  pietists.  The  intellectuality  and 


ANCESTRY.  15 

moral  vigor  of  the  one  family,  and  the  devoutness  and 
mysticism  of  the  other,  were  both  inherited  by  Emerson. 
He  was  nurtured  in  the  most  spiritual  phases  of  the  old 
faith.  Its  doctrines  had  passed  away,  and  left  only  its 
spiritual  life  behind. 

Such  an  ancestry,  physical  and  spiritual,  is  a  promise 
of  the  richest  culture,  as  it  is  of  the  finest  natural  powers. 
Emerson  has  not  only  made  good  this  promise,  but 
added  to  it  a  remarkable  genius  and  a  unique  spiritual 
insight.  To  his  ancestry  he  owes  much  of  the  quality 
and  direction  of  that  genius,  as  well  as  the  fine  flavor 
and  aroma  of  his  character,  and  the  rich  spiritual  grace 
of  his  thought.  We  may  well  propound  his  own  ques 
tion,  "  How  shall  a  man  escape  from  his  ancestors  ? " 
For  we  find  in  his  books  a  confirmation  of  his  declara 
tion,  that  "  in  different  hours  a  man  represents  each  of 
several  of  his  ancestors,  as  if  there  were  seven  or  eight 
of  us  rolled  up  in  each  other's  skin,  —  seven  or  eight 
ancestors  at  least,  —  and  they  constitute  the  variety  of 
notes  for  that  new  piece  of  music  which  his  life  is."  So 
we  find  him  summing  up  and  repeating,  with  a  master's 
stroke  of  genius,  the  life  and  the  thought  of  all  his 
Puritan  ancestors ;  which  has  been,  in  substance,  the 
life  and  the  thought  of  New  England. 


16  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 


n. 

EARLY   LLFE. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  was  born  in  Boston, 
May  25,  1803.      His   father  died   before  he   was 
eight   years  old,  leaving   five    sons,  —  William,    Ralph 
Waldo,    Edward    Bliss,    Peter   Bulkeley,  and    Charles 
C'liauncy.     The   mother   was   a   woman   of  great   sen 
sibility,   modest,    serene,  and   very   devout.      She    was 
possessed  of  a  thoroughly  sincere  nature,  devoid  of  all 
sentimentalism,  and   of  a   temper  the    most  even  and 
placid.    One  of  her  sons  said,  that,  in  his  boyhood,  when 
she  came  from  her  room  in  the  morning,  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  she  always  came  from  communion  with  God. 
She  has  been  described  l  as  possessed  of  "great  patience 
and  fortitude,  of  the  serenest  trust  in  God,  of  a  dis 
cerning  spirit,  and  a  most  courteous  bearing,  one  who 
knew  how  to  guide  the  affairs  of  her  own  house,  as  long 
as  she  was  responsible  for  that,  with  the  sweetest  au 
thority,  and  knew  how  to  give  the  least  trouble  and  the 
greatest   happiness   after  that  authority  was  resigned. 
Both  her  mind  and  her  character  were  of  a  superior 
order,  and  they  set  their  stamp  upon  manners  of  pecu 
liar  softness  and  natural  gnice  and  quiet  dignity.    Ilei 
sensible  and  kindly  speech  was  always  as  goocf  as  the 
best  instruct  ionyfner  smile,  though  it  was  ever  ready, 
was  a  reward.  /Her  dark,  liquid  eyes,  from  which  old 
age  could  not  fake  away  the  expression,  will  be  among 
the  remembrances  of  all  on  whom  they  ever  rested." 
t  During  the  boyhood  of  her  sons,  Mrs.  Emerson  found 
a    faithful   helper  in   her  husband's  sister,  Miss  Mary 
Moody  Emerson.    This  aunt  was  also  a  woman  of  many 

i  By  the  Rev.  N".  L.  Frothinghara,  in  The  Christian  Examiner  foi 
January,  1854. 


EARLY   LIFE.  17 

remarkable  qualities,  high-toned  in  motive  and  conduct 
to  the  largest  degree,  very  conscientious,  and  with  anj 
unconventional  disregard  of  social  forms.  Waldo  was 
greatly,  indebted  to  her.  He  once  declared  her  influence 
upon  his  education  to  have  been  as  great' as  that  of 
Greece  or  Rome,  and  he  described  her  as  a  great 
genius  and  a  remarkable  writer.)  She  was  well  read  in 
theology,  and  was  a  scholar  01  no  mean  abilities.  In 
her  old  age  she  was  described  by  one  of  her  intimate 
friends l  as  still  retaining  "  all  the  oddities  and  enthusi 
asms  of  her  youth,  —  a  person  at  war  with  society  as  to 
all  its  decorums,"  who  "  enters  into  conversation  with 
everybody,  and  talks  on  every  subject;  is  sharp  as  a 
razor  in  her  satire,  and  sees  you  through  and  through 
in  a  moment."  "  She  has  read,  all  her  life,"  this  friend 
said,  "in  the  most  miscellaneous  way;  and  her  appetite 
for  metaphysics  is  insatiable.  Alas  for  the  victim  in 
whose  intellect  she  sees  any  promise !  Descartes  and 
his  vortices,  Leibnitz  and  his  monads,  Spinoza  and  his 
unica  substantia,  will  prove  it  to  the  very  core.  But, 
notwithstanding  all  this,  her  power  over  the  minds  of 
her  young  friends  was  almost  despotic.  She  heard  of 
me,  when  I  was  sixteen  years  old,  as  a  person  devoted  to 
books  and  a  sick  mother,  sought  me  out  in  my  garret 
without  any  introduction,  and,  though  received  at  first 
with  sufficient  coldness,  she  did  not  give  me  up  till  she 
had  enchained  me  entirely  in  her  magic  circle." 

In  this  pious  and  conscientious  household,  where  the 
most  careful  economy  had  to  be  practised,  Waldo 
Emerson  grew  up  to  the  strictest  regard  for  all  that  is 
good  and  true.  The  mother  and  the  aunt  exercised  a 
rare  influence  over  him  and  his  brothers.  They  were  / 
carefully  and  conscientiously  trained  at  home,  especially 
in  regard  to  every  moral  virtue.  Honesty,  probity,  j 
unselfishness  —  these  virtues  they  had  deeply  instilled 
into  them.  In  after  years  Waldo  was  once  asked  if  he 
had  read  a  certain  novel ;  and  he  replied  that  he  had 
once,  in  his  boyhood,  taken  it  from  a  circulating  library, 

1  Mrs.  Samuel  Ripley:   Worthy  Women  of  our  First  Century,  p.  174. 


18  RALPH   WALDO   EMEKSON. 

paying  six  cents  for  the  use  of  the  first  volume.  His 
aunt  chided  him  for  spending  money  in  that  way,  when 
it  was  so  hard  for  his  mother  to  obtain  it.  He  was  so 
affected  by  this  appeal  he  returned  the  volume,  but  did 
not  take  out  the  other.  His  remembrance  of  this  inci 
dent  had  prevented  his  ever  completing  the  book  he 
had  so  much  enjoyed  until  this  appeal  was  made  to  his 
sense  of  duty. 

At  the  age  of  eight  years  Waldo  entered  the  public 
grammar-school,  and  soon  after  the  "Latin  School.  That 
he  made  good  progress  there  may  be  judged  by  a  letter 
written  him  when  he  was  eleven  by  his  aunt's  intimate 
friend,  Miss  Sarah  Bradford :  "  You  love  to  trifle  in 
rhyme  a  little  now  and  then,"  she  wrote ;  "  why  will 
you  not  complete  this  versification  of  the  fifth  bucolic?" 
sending  him  a  translation  from  Virgil.  "  You  will 
answer  two  ends,  or,  as  the  old  proverb  goes,  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stone,  —  improve  in  your  Latin,  as  well 
as  indulge  a  taste  for  poetry.  Why  can't  you  write  me 
a  letter  in  Latin  ?  But  Greek  is  your  favorite  lan 
guage  ;  epistoia  in  lingua  Grcecd  would  be  still  better. 
All  the  honor  will  be  on  my  part  to  correspond  with  a 
young  gentleman  in  Greek.  Tell  me  what  most  in 
terests  you  in  Rollin  ;  in  the  wars  of  contending 
princes  under  whose  banner  you  enlist,  to  whose  cause 
you  ardently  wish  success.  Write  me  with  what  stories 
in  Virgil  you  are  most  delighted."  In  response  to  this 
letter  he  returned  a  poetic  version  of  the  fifth  bucolic, 
from  the  nineteenth  to  the  thirty-fifth  line :  — 

"  MAY  6, 1814. 

" Mop.     Turn  now,  O  youth !  from  your  long  speech  awayp 
The  bower  we've  readied,  recluse  from  sunny  ray. 
The  nymphs  v.ith  pomp  have  mourned  for  Daphnis  dead; 
The  lia/cls  witnessed,  and  the  rivers  fled. 
Tlu  wretched  mother  clasped  her  lifeless  child, 
And  gods  and  stars  invoked  in  accents  wild. 
Daphnis  1  the  cows  are  not  now  led  to  streams 
Where  the  bright  sun  upon  the  water  gleams ; 
Neither  do  herds  the  cooling  river  drink, 
Nor  crop  the  grass  upon  the  verdant  brink. 
O  Duplmis  !  both  the  mountains  and  the  woods, 
The  Punic  lions,  and  the  raging  floods, 


EAKLY  LIFE.  19 

All  mourn  for  thee,  —  for  thee  who  first  did  hold 

In  chariot-reins  the  spotted  tiger  bold. 

Daphnis  the  bacchanalian  chorus  led, 

He  placed  himself  at  the  mad  dancers'  head. 

'Twas  Daphnis  who,  with  beauteous  fingers,  wove 

The  stems  of  heaves  he  gathered  from  the  grove. 

As  the  great  beauty  of  a  tree  is  seen 

From  vines  intwining  round  its  pleasant  green, 

As  vines  themselves  in  grapes  their  beauty  find, 

As  the  fair  bull  of  all  the  lowing  kind, 

As  standing  corn  doth  grace  the  verdant  fields, 

So  to  thy  beauty  every  rival  yields." 

^He  seems  to  have  loved  to  write  verses,  often  produ 
cing  them  as  school  exercises ;  and  he  was  an  eager 
reader  of  books  of  history/  In  one  of  his  essays  he  drops 
a  bit  of  autobiography  full  of  interest.  4^The  regular 
course  of  studies,"  he  says,  "the  years  of  academical 
and  professional  education,  have  not  yielded  me  better 
facts  than  some  idle  books  under  the  bench  at  the  Latin 
School.  What  we  do  not  call  education  is  more  pre 
cious  than  that  which  we  do  call  so."  l) 

Speaking  of  the  Boston  of  Emerson's  boyhood,  San- 
born  says,  "  He  breathed  in  its  atmosphere  and  its 
traditions  as  a  boy,  while  he  drove  his  mother's  cow  to 
pasture  along  what  are  now  the  finest  streets.  He 
learned  his  first  lessons  of  life  in  its  schools  and 
churches ;  listened  to  Webster  and  Story  in  its  courts, 
to  Josiah  Quincy  and  Harrison  Gray  Otis  in  its  town- 
meetings  at  Faneuil  Hall ;  heard  sermons  in  the  Old 
South  Meeting-house." 2  He  has  himself  described  his 
indebtedness  to  the  religious  spirit  of  those  -  days. 
"  What  a  debt  is  ours,"  he  says,  "  to  that  old  religion, 
winch,  in  the  childhood  of  most  of  us,  still  dwelt  like  a 
sabbath  morning  in  the  country  of  New  England,  teach 
ing  privation,  self-denial,  and  sorrow."3  One  of  his 
schoolmates  remembers  him,  at  about  the  age  of  ten, 
as  a  "spiritual-looking  boy  in  blue  nankeen,"  whose 
image  became  deeply  stamped  on  his  companion's  mind. 

1  Spiritual  Laws,  in  first  series  of  Essays. 

2  Scribner's  Monthly,  February,  1879. 
8  The  Method  of  Nature. 


20  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

This  young  friend  thought  him  "so  angelic  and  re 
markable  "  that  he  felt  "  towards  him  more  than  a  boy's 
emotion,  as  if  a  new  spring  of  brotherly  affection  had 
suddenly  broken  loose  in  his  heart."  There  was  no  in 
dication  of  turbulence  or  disquiet  about  him  even  then, 
but  a  happy  combination  of  energy  and  gentleness  that 
truly  made  the  boy  father  of  the  man.  He  has  himself 
described  an  incident  of  the  war  of  1812,  when  the 
master  of  the  school  invited  his  boys  to  spend  the  next 
day  in  helping  to  throw  up  earthen  defenses  against  the 
enemy.  He  remembers  that  a  pleasant  day  Avas  spent 
on  Noddle  Island,  but  does  not  recollect  any  work  done 
by  the  boys. 

He  entered  Harvard  College  in  his  fourteenth  year. 
Kirkland  was  then  president,  and  Edward  Everett 
professor  of  Greek  literature.  Among  the  other  pro 
fessors  were  Edward  Charming  and  Ticknor.  Emerson 
felt  the  inspiration  which  the  latter  brought  to  the 
university  throughout  his  course.  Caleb  Gushing  was 
among  the  tutors.  In  his  class  were  Upham,  author  OP 
the  History  of  Salem  Witchcraft,  and  Josiah  Quincy, 
afterwards  Mayor  of  Boston.  In  the  class  before  his 
were  Furness  and  Gannett.  In  the  class  succeeding 
was  Nathaniel  Bowditch  the  younger,  and  in  the  next 
George  Ripley.  Before  they  entered  the  College,  began 
a  lasting  friendship  with  Furness. 

During  his  first  year  in  college  he  was  the  "presi 
dent's  freshman,"  running  on  his  errands  and  making 
his  announcements  for  him.  He  has  been  described  as 
being  then  "a  slender,  delicate  youth,  younger  than 
most  of  his  classmates,  and  of  a  sensitive,  retiring  na 
ture."  ]  He  received,  according  to  his  own  statement, 
but  little  instruction  or  criticism  from  his  professors  that 
was  of  value  to  him.  His  favorite  study  was  Greek, 
and  his  translations  of  the  classical  authors  were  neat 
and  happy.  In  mathematics  he  could  make  no  head 
way,  and  in  philosophy  he  did  not  get  on  very  well. 
He  was  a  great  reader,  and  studied  much  outside  of  the 

i  Literary  World,  May  22,  1880. 


EARLY   LIFE.  21 

prescribed  course.  Even  on  entering  college  be  was 
well  read.  His  special  favorites  were  the  old  English 
poets  and  dramatists,  —  Montaigne  and  Shakspere.  He 
early  discovered  that  Shakspere  was  full  of  interest, 
and  he  became  very  familiar  with  the  great  poet.  In 
his  sophomore  year  he  was  connected  with  a  book-club, 
the  members  of  which  read  Scott's  novels  far  into  the 
night.  He  had  a  taste  for  declamation,  in  which  he 
was  excellent,  and  thus  won  a  Boylston  prize.  He  also 
showed  much  ability  in  composition,  and  what  he  wrote 
was  of  a  marked  excellence.  The  direction  his  genius 
would  take  was  early  indicated.  In  his  junior  year 
he  wrote  an  essay  on  The  Character  of  Socrates,  for 
which  he  gained  a  Bowdoin  prize ;  and  in  his  senior 
year  his  subject  was  The  Present  State  of  Ethical 
Philosophy,  for  which  he  received  the  second  prize. 
He  had  much  skill  in  making  poetry,  which  he  freely 
employed  for  college  purposes.  On  Class  Day  he  was 
the  poet,  and  his  verses  were  thought  to  be  very  fine. 
He  had  one  of  the  twenty-nine  parts  on  Commencement 
Day,  and  spoke  on  John  Knox  in  a  Conference  on  the 
Character  of  John  Knox,  William  Penn,  and  John  Wes 
ley.  Josiah  Quincy,  his  classmate,  and  the  winner  of 
the  first  prize  at  the  Bowdoin  contest,  made  this  entry 
in  his  journal,  under  date  of  July  16,  1821 :  "  Attended 
a  dissertation  of  Emerson's  in  the  morning,  on  the  sub 
ject  of  Ethical  Philosophy.  I  found  it  long  and  dry." 
The  next  day  he  went  to  the  chapel,  "  where  Barn  well 
and  Emerson  performed  our  valedictory  exercises  before 
all  the  scholars  and  a  number  of  ladies.  They  were 
rather  poor,  and  did  but  little  honor  to  the  cla^s."  l  In 
these  judgments  must  be  read  a  little  of  the  spirit  of 
college  rivalry. 

His  mother  moved  to  Cambridge  in  his  sophomore 
year ;  and  he  boarded  with  her,  though  he  had  a  room 
on  the  college-yard.  His  brother  William,  who  gradu 
ated  at  the  previous  Commencement,  opened  a  school 
in  the  house,  and  was  assisted  by  Waldo.  Some  of 

1  Harvard  Sixty  Years  Ago,  by  Josiau  Quincy,  in  The  Independent 
of  July  29,  1880. 


22  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

their  students  became  members  of  the  family,  boarding 
with  their  mother.  Waldo  was  at  this  time  quiet  in 
(manner,  studious,  little  given  to  the  ruder  sports  of  his 
"/'comrades.  Yet  he  was  of  a  genial  disposition,  fond 
}  of  story-telling,  and  good  at  making  a  social  meeting 
\pass  off  pleasantly.  "His  mind  was  unusually  mature 
and  independent.  His  letters  and  conversation  already 
displayed  something  of  originality."  He  owed  much 
to  his  early  developed,  and  assiduously  followed,  habit 
of  wide  and  careful  reading ;  and  he  "  spent  much  of  his 
time  in  special  courses  of  private  work  in  the  library." 
He  doubtless  owed  much  here  to  the  two  remark 
able  women  who  exercised  so  much  influence  on  his 
early  life,  —  Mary  Emerson  and  Sarah  Bradford.  The 
latter  was  afterwards  the  wife  of  Samuel  Ripley.  Both 
~^ these  women  were  great  lovers  of  books,  and  they  were 
unusually  well  informed  for  the  time.  Under  their  lead 
he  early  came  to  love  Plato,  and,  after  leaving  college, 
seems  to  have  studied  him  very  closely.  At  this  period 
Tillotson,  Augustine,  and  Jeremy  Taylor  were  among- 
his  favorite  authors.  One  of  the  earliest  of  the  serious 
books  he  read  was  a  translation  of  Pascal's  PensSes, 
which  he  carried  to  church  with  him,  and  read  almost 
constantly.  He  was  also  greatly  attracted  by  Mon 
taigne.  When  a  boy,  he  found  a  volume  of  Montaigne's 
essays  among  his  father's  books.  After  leaving  college 
it  came  again  to  his  notice,  and  he  procured  the  remain 
ing  volumes.  "  I  remember  the  delight  and  wonder,"  he 
says,  "  in  which  I  lived  with  it.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I 
had  myself  written  the  book  in  some  former  life,  so 
sincerely  it  spoke  to  my  thought  and  experience."  l 
\  Another  important  influence  was  the  preaching  and 
lecturing  of  Edward  Everett.  He  was  in  the  habit  of 
going  from  one  Boston  church  to  another,  on  Sunday 
mornings,  inquiring  for  Everett,  and  so  managed  to  hear 
him  nearly  every  week.  This  was  in  the  days  before 
preachers  and  their  subjects  were  advertised ;  but  the 
young  man  felt  himself  amply  repaid  for  his  search, 

1  Representative  Men  :  essay  on  Montaigne. 


EARLY   LIFE.  23 


in  the  eloquence  which  won  his  admiration.  So  great 
was  his  enthusiasm  that  it  subjected  him  to  the  ridicule 
of  his  schoolmates :  but  it  also,  a  little  later,  won  him 
the  friendship  of  Elizabeth  Peabody,  who  had  the  same 
admiration  for  Everett.^) 

Before  Waldo  left  college,  his  brother  William  had 
opened  a  young  ladies'  school  in  Federal  Street,  Boston ; 
and,  after  his  graduation,  he  went  there  to  teach.  His 
main  object  seems  to  have  been  to  assist  his  younger 
brothers  through  college ;  and  the  family  soon  after 
moved  to  this  location,  near  Dr.  Channing's  church. 
He  is  said  to  have  been  mild  and  gentle  as  a  teacher, 
making  an  agreeable  and  lasting  impression  on  the 
minds  of  his  pupils,  though  teaching  was  not  at  all  to 
his  taste.  He  was  in  the  habit,  when  needing  to  disci 
pline  his  pupils,  of  sending  them  to  his  mother's  room  to 
pursue  their  studies. 

He  began  in  1823  the  study  of  theology,  but  did 
not  enter  the  Harvard  Theological  School,  though  he 
attended  many  of  the  lectures  there.  A  considerable 
influence  at  this  time  was  Channing's  conversation  and 
preaching.  The  outcome  of  that  great  preacher's  most 
cherished  ideas  was  a  fine  practical  reliance  on  the  soul 
of  man  as  a  medium  of  truth  and  goodness.  Emerson 
eagerly  embraced  the  essential  spirit  of  Channing's 
teaching ;  while  the  lovable  spirit  of  this  man,  the  high 
character  of  his  thought,  the  loftiness  of  his  religious 
purpose,  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  young  student. 
To  come  into  contact  with  such  a  man  is  worth  far 
more  than  all  formal  instruction.  Charming  valued 
Christianity  for  what  it  had  in  common  with  reason 
and  nature,  and  he  thought  man  is  cognizant  of  the 
'  /Absolute  through  his  reason.  In  this  he  was  largely  in 
sympathy  with  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,  to  whom 
he  was  greatly  indebted.  He  said  we  know  God  only 
by  those  moral  laws  we  find  in  ourselves,  because  we 
are  of  like  nature  with  him.  He  saw  in  the  cosmic 
forces  of  nature  unconscious  manifestations  of  the  cli- 
}  vine  mind. }  |^p^ino__the^Jiighest  motive  of  life  was 
"the  full  enjoyment  of  ouTTspiritual  being,  when  the 


24  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

sense  of  duty  was  lost  in  great  impulses  of  love,  which 
is  the  full  communion  with  the  spirit  of  the  Lord,  which 
is  liberty."  l  He  found  in  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth 
a  higher  form  of  thought  than  either  the  Trinitarian  or 
Unitarian.  (Emerson  also  heard  Professor  Norton's  lec 
tures  in  the  Divinity  School  with  much  profit  and  inter- 
"est.  Having  studied  too  assiduously,  his  eyes  failed  him 
at  this  time ;  and  he  was  unable  to  take  notes  of  these 
lectures.  He  was,  consequently,  excused  from  exami 
nation.  Of  this  fact  he  has  since  said,  "  If  they  had 
examined  me,  they  probably  would  not  have  let  me 
preach  at  all."  This  remark  refers  to  doubts  which  he 
entertained  even  at  this  time,  —  doubts  concerning  the 
form  and  not  the  substance  of  religion. \  William  had 
gone  to  Germany  to  study  theology,  after  the  school 
was  given  up,  and  found  himself  entangled  in  skepti 
cism  as  the  result  of  his  studies  there.  So  perplexed 
was  he  as  to  what  was  his  duty,  he  went  to  Goethe, 
and  laid  his  case  before  the  great  poet,  stating  his 
doubts,  the  expectations  of  his  mother  and  friends,  and 
the  pain  he  knew  it  would  cause  them  should  he 
abandon  his  chosen  profession.  Goethe  gave  him  his 
sympathy,  advised  him  to  go  home  and  preach,  what 
ever  his  doubts,  and  not  to  overthrow  the  hopes  of  his 
family.  William  could  not,  however,  so  deal  with  his 
doubts,  and  returned  home  to  study  law.  On  his  re 
turn  Waldo  was  living  in  Chelmsford,  and  William 
went  there  to  talk  over  the  situation  with  him.  De 
scribing  this  interview  years  afterward,  Emerson  said, 
"  I  was  very  sad,  for  I  knew  how  much  it  would  grieve 
my  mother  ;  and  it  did." 

His  health  became  very  poor  at  this  time,  owing  to  hi* 
hard  work.  He  was  in  1826  "approbated  to  preach" 
by  the  Middlesex  Association  of  Ministers,  but  was 
obliged  to  spend  the  following  winter  in  Florida  and 
South  Carolina.  He  preached  in  Charleston  several 
times,  and  in  other  places,  during  his  sojourn  there. 
On  his  return,  in  the  spring  of  1827,  he  began  to  seek 

1  Reminiscences  of  William  E.  Channing,  by  E.  P.  Peabody. 


EARLY  LIFE.  25 

for  a  p\il pit.  He  was  at  New  Bedford,  in  Dr.  Dewey's 
pulpit,  for  three  Sundays,  and  was,  doubtless,  drawn 
heartily  to  the  Quakers  of  that  town.  In  the  spring 
of  1828,  for  a  short  time  he  supplied  the  place  of  Dr. 
Ripley  at  Concord. 

He  continued  to  write  poetry  through  all  these  early 
years ;  though,  with  a  few  exceptions,  it  has  not  been 
given  to  the  public.  One  poem  of  this  period,  however, 
has  attracted  much  attention,  and  is  one  of  the  most 
popular  of  his  productions.  It  was  while  in  Newton, 
for  a  short  time,  that  he  wrote  the  well-known  lines,  — 

"  Good-by,  proud  world  I     I'm  going  home." 

This  poem  has  been  referred  to  the  period  after  his 
leaving  the  pulpit,  but  this  is  a  mistake.  It  indicates 
the  spirit  and  purpose  of  the  young  man,  his  genius, 
his  high  ideals,  his  love  of  a  life  of  meditation,  and  his 
scorn  for  all  the  shams  and  shows  of  the  world.  Writ 
ten  before  entering  the  ministry,  instead  of  after  leav 
ing  it,  it  indicates  the  nobility  of  his  motives  and  the 
loftiness  of  his  aims.  It  shows  his  intense  love  of 
nature,  and  the  devoutness  of  his  mind. 

"  When  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 
I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools  and  the  learned  clan ; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet  ?  " 


26  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 


m. 

MINISTRY. 

ON"  the  llth  of  January,  1829,  Emerson  received  an 
invitation  from  the  Second  Church  in  Boston, 
to  become  the  colleague  of  Henry  Ware,  jun.  Ware's 
health  had  broken  down,  and  he  was  unable  to  con 
tinue  his  ministerial  labors.  On  the  llth  of  March, 
Emerson  was  ordained.  The  sermon  was  preached  by 
the  Rev.  Samuel  Ripley,  and  the  address  to  the  candi 
date  was  given  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Ripley.  Parkman 
gave  the  ordaining  prayer,  N.  L.  Frothingham  the  fel 
lowship  of  the  churches,  and  Gannett  the  address  to 
the  society.  In  his  address,  Dr.  Ripley  appealed  to  the 
memories  of  the  young  man's  distinguished  ancestors, 
and  said,  "  We  cheerfully  express  our  joy  at  the  ordina 
tion  of  one  whose  moral,  religious,  and  literary  charac 
ter  is  so  fair  and  promising."  The  pastoral  work,  and 
especially  the  care  of  the  young,  he  said,  would  be 
easier  to  the  candidate  than  to  most  ministers,  both 
from  natural  disposition  and  habit.  His  relations  to 
Emerson  were  mentioned  in  a  happy  manner,  in  speak 
ing  of  the  reasons  for  his  being  invited  to  join  in  the 
ceremonies  of  ordination. 

"  Why  is  this  service  assigned  to  one  so  aged,"  he  asked,  "  and 
so  little  conversant  in  this  metropolis  ?  Because  I  was  the  friend 
and  successor  of  your  excellent  grandfather,  and  became  the  legal 
parent  and  guardian  of  his  orphan  children ;  because  I  guided  the 
youthful  days,  directed  the  early  studies,  introduced  into  the  min 
istry,  witnessed  the  celebrity,  and  deeply  lamented  the  early  death 
of  your  beloved  father;  and  because  no  clergyman  present  can 
feel  a  livelier  interest  or  deeper  joy  on  seeing  you  rise  up  in  his 
stead,  and  taking  part  with  us  in  this  ministry  in  your  native  city, 
where  his  eloquent  voice  is  still  remembered,  and  his  memory 
affectionately  cherished." 


MINISTRY.  27 

Almost  at  once  Ware  was  compelled  to  go  to  Europe, 
whence  he  returned  only  to  resign  his  charge.  Upon 
Emerson  must  almost  at  once  have  fallen  the  whole 
burden  of  preaching  and  pastoral  work,  taking  the 
place  of  a  learned  and  eloquent  preacher,  in  a  large 
and  popular  church.  He  entered  upon  his  work  under 
the  most  favorable  auspices,  so  far  as  concerned  the 
impression  he  had  made,  and  the  confidence  felt  in  him. 
In  March,  Ware  wrote  to  his  brother,  "  My  colleague 
has  begun  his  work  in  the  best  possible  manner,  and 
with  just  the  promise  I  like/'  When,  after  eighteen 
months'  absence,  Ware  returned  from  Europe  and 
resigned  his  connection  with  the  church,  he  said  in  his 
farewell  sermon,  in  speaking  of  his  previous  withdraw 
al  from  the  pulpit  on  account  of, his  health,  "  Provi 
dence  presented  to  you  at  once  a  man  on  whom  your 
hearts  could  rest."  l 

Emerson's  preaching  is  said  to  have  been  eloquent, 
simple,  and  effective.  Sanborn  gives  these  incidents  of 
his  ministerial  experience  : 2  — 

"  Plis  pulpit  eloquence  was  singularly  attractive,  though  by  no 
means  equally  so  to  all  persons.  In  1829,  before  the  two  friends 
had  met,  Bronson  Alcott  heard  him  preach  in  Dr.  Channing's 
church  on  'The  Universality  of  the  Moral  Sentiment/  and  \vas 
struck,  as  he  said,  '  with  the  youth  of  the  preacher,  the  beauty  of 
his  elocution,  and  the  direct  and  sincere  manner  in  which  he  ad 
dressed  his  hearers.'  This  particular  sermon  was  probably  one 
that  he  had  written  in  July,  1829,  concerning  which  he  had  said  to 
a  friend,  while  writing  it,  '  I  am  striving  hard  to-day  to  establish 
the  sovereignty  and  self -existent  excellence  of  the  moral  law  in 
popular  argument,  and  slay  the  utility  swine.'  It  is  possible, 
therefore,  that  he  may  have  taken  a  tone  towards  the  utilitarians 
which  gave  some  ground  for  a  remark  made,  not  long  after,  by 
the  wife  of  a  Boston  minister  with  whom  Emerson  exchanged. 
'  Waldo  Emerson  came  last  Sunday,'  said  this  lady,  '  and  preached 
a  sermon,  with  his  chin  in  the  air,  in  scorn  of  the  whole  human 
race.'  But  the  usual  tone  of  his  discourses  could  never  justify 
this  peevish  criticism." 

He  has  been  described  "  as  noted  for  the  amiability 
of  his  disposition,  the  strictness  of  his  morals,  and  for 

1  Ware's  Biography. 

'2  Scribner's  Magazine,  February,  1879. 


28  RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON. 

his  attention  to  his  duties."1     One  who  heard  him2  at 
this  time,  has  spoken  of  the  — 

"  Solemnity  of  his  manner,  and  the  earnest  thought  pervading 
the  discourse.  The  text  was, '  What  is  a  man  profited  it'  he  gain 
the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul  ? '  The  main  emphasis  was 
on  the  word  '  own  ; '  and  the  general  theme  was,  that  to  every  man 
the  great  end  of  existence  was  the  preservation  and  culture  of  his 
individual  mind  and  character.  Each  man  must  be  saved  by  his 
own  inward  redeemer;  and  the  whole  world  was  for  each  but  a 
plastic  material  through  which  the  individual  spirit  was  to  realise 
li.self.  Aspiration  and  thought  became  clear  and  real,  only  by 
action  and  life.  If  knowledge  led  not  to  action,  it  passed  away." 

During  his  ministry  Emerson  took  a  considerable 
share  in  the  public  affairs  of  the  city,  and  a  deep  in 
terest  in  all  philanthropic  movements.  He  was  on  the 
school  committee,  chaplain  of  the  State  Senate,  and,  on 
the  first  Sunday  in  June,  1832,  preached  the  charity 
sermon  at  the  "  Old  South "  church.  When  Father 
Taylor  was  sent  to  Boston  to  preach  to  the  sailors, 
though  a  Methodist,  he  went  to  Dr.  Charming  for  aid 
in  building  a  house  of  worship.  The  second  person  he 
visited  on  the  same  mission  was  Emerson,  who  gave 
him  money,  and  aided  him  in  securing  the  assistance 
of  many  rich  Boston  merchants.  Even  at  this  early 
day,  when  all  the  pulpits  were  silent  on  the  subject  of 
slavery,  he  opened  his  church  to  the  anti-slavery  agita 
tors.  On  Sunda}^  evening,  May  29,  1831,  Samuel  J. 
May  delivered  an  anti-slavery  lecture  in  his  church; 
and  Arnold  Buffum  spoke  there,  in  favor  of  emancipa 
tion,  Dec.  16,  1832. 

During  his  ministry  he  seems  to  have  written  nothing 
on  literary  themes,  at  least  nothing  was  published  from 
his  pen.  The  only  exception  is  a  short  notice  of  a  new 
collection  of  hymns  printed  in  The  Christian  Examiner 
of  1831.  He  praises  the  Hebrew  Psalms  for  "the 
greatest  perfection  to  which  religious  poetry  has  yet 
been  carried."  Of  church  hymns  he  characteristically 
says,  — 

1  Gallery  of  Literary  Portraits,  series  first,  by  George  Gilfillan. 

2  Eraser's  Magazine,  July,  1868. 


MINISTRY.  29 

"It  is  not  fit  that  men  of  common  powers  should  write  oui 
hymns.  If  every  hymn  to  be  sung  in  our  churches  could  have 
come  from  the  powerful  and  hallowed  minds  that  have  thought  for 
the  human  race,  and,  instead  of  being  regarded  as  an  occasional 
and  inferior  exercise,  had  been  the  vent  of  their  best  and  deepest 
contemplations  upon  God  and  nature,  these  minds  would  have 
enjoyed  an  influence  which  will  never  be  granted  to  their  epics, 
and  books  of  philosphy  or  criticism." 

In  1830  he  took  part  in  the  ordination  of  the  Rev. 
H.  B.  Goodwin  as  the  colleague  of  Dr.  Ripley  in  the 
Concord  church.  On  this  occasion  he  gave  the  right 
hand  of  fellowship,  and  it  is  the  only  discourse  or 
address  of  his  printed  during  his  ministry.  It  indicates 
a  general  acceptance  of  the  customs  of  the  church,  and 
a  genuine  reception  of  its  most  cherished  ideas.  He 
said,  — 

"Christianity  aims  to  teach  the  perfection  of  human  nature; 
and  eminently,  therefore,  does  it  teach  the  unity  of  the  spirit.  It 
is  not  only  in  its  special  precepts,  but  by  all  its  operations,  a  law  of 
love.  It  does,  by  its  revelation  of  God,  and  of  the  true  purposes  and 
the  true  rules  of  life,  operate  to  bind  up,  to  join  together,  and  not 
to  distinguish  and  separate.  It  proclaimed  peace.  But  it  speaks 
first  to  its  own  disciples,  Be  of  one  mind  ;  else,  with  what  counte 
nance  could  the  church  say,  Love  one  another? 

"  And  thousands  of  hearts  have  heard  the  commandment,  and 
anon  with  joy  receive  it.  All  men  on  whose  souls  the  light  of 
God's  revelation  truly  shineth,  with  whatever  apparent  differences, 
are  substantially  of  one  mind,  work  together,  whether  consciously 
or  not,  for  one  and  the  same  good.  Faces  that  never  beheld  each 
other  are  lighted  up  by  it  with  the  same  expression.  Hands  that 
Were  never  clasped  toil  unceasingly  at  the  same  work.  This  it  is 
which  makes  the  omnipotence  of  truth  in  the  keeping  of  feeble 
men,  —  this  fellowship  in  all  its  servants,  this  swift  consenting 
acknowledgment  with  which  they  hail  it  when  it  appears  God's 
truth ;  it  is  that  electric  spark  which  flies  instantaneously  through 
the  countless  bands  that  compose  the  chain.  Truth,  not  like  each 
form  of  error,  depending  for  its  repute  on  the  powers  and  influence 
of  here  and  there  a  solitary  mind  that  espouses  it,  combines  hosts 
for  its  support,  and  makes  them  co-operate  across  mountains,  yea, 
and  ages  of  time." 

In  personally  addressing  his  friend,  he  said,  — 

"  It  is  with  sincere  pleasure  that  I  speak  for  the  church  on  this 
occasion,  and  on  the  spot  hallowed  to  all  by  so  many  patriotic, 
andy  to  me,  by  so  many  affectionate,  recollections.  I  feel  a  peculiar, 


30  KALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

a  personal  right  to  welcome  you  hither  to  the  home  and  the  tem 
ple  of  my  fathers.  I  believe  the  church  whose  pastor  you  are  will 
forgive  me  the  allusion,  if  I  express  the  extreme  interest  which 
every  man  feels  in  the  scene  of  the  trials  and  labors  of  his  ances 
tors.  Five  out  of  seven  of  your  predecessors  are  my  kindred. 
They  are  in  the  dust,  who  bind  my  attachment  to  this  place ;  but 
not  all.  I  cannot  help  congratulating  you  that  one  survives,  to  be 
to  you  the  true  friend  and  venerable  counselor  he  has  ever  been 
to  me." 

Though  every  thing  seemed  to  indicate  that  Emerson 
would  lead  a  useful  and  a  successful  career  in  the 
pulpit,  yet  in  the  autumn  of  1832  he  resigned  his  place, 
ii  nd  gradually  withdrew  from  his  ministerial  labors. 
He  had  early  accepted  a  form  of  thought  which  was 
not  popular,  which  more  or  less  put  him  outside  the 
traditions  of  the  church  ;  so  that  the  cause  which  led  to 
this  action  may  be  found  in  his  adoption  of  an  ideal 
philosophy  and  a  purely  spiritual  interpretation  of 
religion.  The  immediate  cause  was  his  disinclination 
to  conduct  the  usual  "communion  service."  The  true 
communion  was  to  his  mind  purely  spiritual,  while  that 
commonly  observed  he  felt  had  no  sanction  in  the  New 
Testament.  Yet  he  offered  to  continue  it  if  the  service 
could  be  made  one  merely  of  commemoration,  and  if 
he  should  not  himself  be  required  to  partake  of  the 
bread  and  wine.  His  congregation  was  anxious  to 
retain  him,  and  proposed  that  he  should  put  his  con 
struction  on  the  Lord's  Supper  while  they  retained 
theirs ;  but  he  could  not  consent  to  such  a  compromise. 
While  his  congregation  valued  his  services,  they  were 
zealous  of  the  Unitarian  name,  and  did  not  wish  any 
reproach  of  heresy  to  be  cast  upon  it.  As  they  would 
not  consent  to  his  innovations,  he  resigned. l  On  the 
9th  of  September,  1882,  he  preached  a  singularly  clear 
and  noble-minded  sermon  on  the  subject,  setting  forth 
his  reasons  for  rejecting  this  rite.  It  justifies  all  the 
praise  accorded  to  his  pulpit  abilities.  It  is  dispassion 
ate,  tru]y  religious;  and  it  is  very  charming  in  its  &uiet 
and  yet  earnest  style.  It  indicates  no  break  with  the 

1  See  Bartol's  account  of  this  affair  in  Radical  Problems,  p.  65. 


MINISTRY.  31 

spiritual  truths  of  Christianity,  but  a  desire  for  a  loftier 
spirit  of  devotion;  for  the  forms  -  of  the  church  are 
challenged  in  the  name  of  that  inward  spirit  of  truth 
in  which  alone  true  religion  consists.  !  To  him  all  true 
worship  had  come  to  be  inward,  arid  it  could  only  be  | 
hindered  and  corrupted  by  outward  forms.  The  spirit 
vcan  return  to  its  own,  and  in  interior  vision  behold  the 
Nameless  One  in  union  with  itself.  Prayer  must  be 
spontaneous  to  be  of  any  worth.  It  must  be  natural ; 
the  soul's  impulses  must  be  obeyed.  Holding  such 
ideas,  the  rite  of  " communion"  seemed  a  repudiation 
of  that  spiritual  worship  Jesus  taught,  and  a  return  to 
the  forms  from  which  he  sought  to  liberate  men.  In 
urging  this  fact,  he  states  very  clearly  the  chief  thought 
of  his  sermon  on  the  Lord's  Supper. 

"  The  whole  world  was  full  of  idols  and  ordinances.  The  Jew 
ish  was  a  religion  of  forms.  The  Pagan  was  a  religion  of  forms : 
it  was  all  body,  —  it  had  no  life,  —  and  the  Almighty  God  was 
pleased  to  qualify  and  send  forth  a  man  to  teach  men  that  they 
must  serve  him  with  the  heart ;  that  only  that  life  was  religious 
which  was  thoroughly  good ;  that  sacrifice  was  smoke,  and  forms 
were  shadows.  This  man  lived  and  died  true  to  this  purpose ;  and 
now,  with  his  blessed  word  and  life  before  us,  Christians  must  con 
tend  that  it  is  a  matter  of  vital  importance  —  really  a  duty  —  to 
commemorate  him  by  a  certain  form,  whether  that  form  be  agree 
able  to  their  understandings  or  not. 

"  Is  not  this  to  make  vain  the  gift  of  God  ?  Is  not  this  to  turn 
back  the  hand  on  the  dial  ?  Is  not  this  to  make  men  —  to  make 
ourselves  —  forget  that  not  forms,  but  duties  —  not  names,  but 
righteousness  and  love  —  are  enjoined  ?  and  that,  in  the  eye  of  God, 
there  is  no  other  measure  of  the  value  of  any  one  form  than  the 
measure  of  its  use  ?  " 

After  his  resignation  his  health  broke  down,  and  in 
December  he  was  advised  to  take  a  sea-voyage.  He 
was  not  able  to  appear  again  in  the  pulpit,  but  on  the 
22d  sent  his  congregation  an  affectionate  letter  of  fare 
well.  It  shows  very  clearly  that  he  abandoned  none  of 
the  essential  ideas  of  his  former  faith.1 

1  Both  this  letter  and  the  sermon  are  printed  in  full  in  Frothingham's 
History  of  New  England  Transcendentalism,  and  should  be  carefully 
read  by  those  who  would  correctly  understand  the  causes  of  Emerson's 
separation  from  the  church. 


32  KALPH   WALDO  EMERSOX. 

It  has  been  thought  Emerson  left  the  pulpit  with  a 
feeling  of  disappointment:  and  the  poem,  Good-by, 
Proud  World,  has  been  quoted  to  this  effect;  but 
there  is  no  evidence  of  it.  At  the  hour  when  his  con 
tinuance  as  pastor  of  the  church  was  being  discu- 
by  its  members,  he  sat  quietly  conversing  with  a  friend. 
When  he  aro.-e  to  depart,  he  said,  "  This  is  probably  the 
last  time  we  shall  ever  meet  as  brethren  in  the  'same 
calling."  He  explained  the  cause  of  the  remark,  but 
was  perfectly  calm,  and  apparently  contented  with  that 
rf-ult.  His  real  feelings  towards  the  church  may  prob 
ably  be  best  seen  in  a  hymn  he  wrote  for  the  ordination 
of  Chandler  Bobbins,  who  became  the  next  year  his 
successor  in  the  Second  Church. 

"  We  lore  the  venerable  house 
Our  fathers  built  to  God; 
In  heaven  are  kept  their  grateful  TOWS, 
Their  dust  endears  the  sod. 

"  Here  holy  thoughts  a  light  have  shed 

From  many  a  radiant  face, 
And  prayers  of  tender  hope  have  spread 
A  perfume  through  the  place. 

a  And  anxious  hearts  have  pondered  here 

The  mystery  of  life, 
And  prayed  the  Eternal  Spirit  clear 
Their  doubts  and  aid  tneir  strife. 

u  From  humble  tenements  around 

Came  up  the  pensive  train, 
And  in  the  church  a  blessing  found, 
Which  filled  their  homes  again. 

"  They  live  with  God,  their  homes  are  dust ; 

But  here  their  children  pray, 
And,  in  this  fleeting  lifetime, "trust 
To  find  the  narrow  way." 

Though  his  separation  from  the  church  seems  to  ha\e 

\>(-(-n  so  small,  and  though  in  mo>t  things  he  continued 

yrnpathize  so  strongly  with  its  purpo.-(.->,  yet  he  was 


MINISTRY.  3 

subjected  to  much  of  misconception  and  criticism.1 
This  is  shown  in  one  of  the  letters  of  Mrs.  Samuel 
Ripley  to  Miss  Mary  Emerson,  dated  "  Waltham,  Sept. 
4,  1833." 2 

"  We  have  had  a  delightful  visit  of  two  days,"  she  says,  "  from 
Waldo.  We  feel  about  him  as  you  no  doubt  do.  While  we 
regard  him  still  more  than  ever  as  the  apostle  of  the  eternal  reason, 
we  do  not  like  to  hear  the  crows,  as  Pindar  says,  caw  at  the  bird 
of  Jove ;  nevertheless,  he  has  some  stout  advocates.  A  lady  was 
mourning  the  other  day  to  Mr.  Francis  3  about  Mr.  Emerson's  in 
sanity.  « Madam,  I  wish  I  were  half  as  sane,'  he  answered,  and 
with  warm  indignation." 

His  health  not  being  improved  during  the  winter,  he 
sailed  early  in  the  spring  of  1833  for  Europe.  He  first 
visited  Sicily  and  Italy,  and,  returning  through  France, 
spent  some  weeks  in  England.  He  met  Greenough  in 
Florence,  who  secured  him  an  invitation  to  visit  Lan- 
dor ;  and  he  was  greatly  interested  by  that  fine  writer. 
His  impressions  of  Landor,  as  they  were  many  years 
afterwards  published  in  English  Traits,  did  not  please 
the  subject  of  them  ;  and  Forster  gives  Landor's  correc 
tions.4  It  is  more  than  probable,  however,  that  Landor 
did  not  remember  all  he  said  in  these  conversations, 

, l  In  the  Life  of  Father  Taylor  is  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Horace  Mann 
to  his  daughter,  in  which  she  has  this  to  say  of  Taylor's  relations  to 
Emerson:  "Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  was  settled  over  the  North  society; 
and  all  through  that  experience  of  his,  which  ended  in  his  leaving  the 
parish  and  the  settled  ministry,  your  father  understood  him  when  so 
many  maligned  him.  Some  one  used  the  expression  that  Mr.  Emerson 
was  insane.  Your  father  did  not  agree  with  his  views  of  the  Lord's 
Supper,  —  that  it  \vas  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  no  longer  appropriate;  for 
he  gave  a  great  significance  and  value  to  it;  but  he  would  not  let  that 
suggestion  pass.  He  said, '  Mr.  Emerson  might  think  this  or  that,  but  he 
was  more  like  Jesus  Christ  than  any  one  he  had  ever  known.  He  Imd 
seen  him  when  his  religion  was  tested,  and  it  bore  the  test.'  Surely 
there  could  be  no  better  proof  of  Christian  liberality  than  his  apprecia 
tion  of  one  who  differed  so  entirely  from  himself  in  doctrine."  Writing 
of  a  subsequent  period,  that  of  Emerson's  Divinity-School  address,  Mrs. 
Mann  says,  "  He  and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  did  a  great  work  together 
in  those  days,  each  working  in  his  own  sphere,  often  encountering  each 
other  in  souls  as  well  as  in  charities.  Each  understood  each  other 
better  for  the  work  of  each." 

-  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Samuel  Ripley,  by  Miss  Elizabeth  Hoar,  in  Worthy 

omen  of  our  First  Century. 

a  Rev.  Convers  Francis. 

4  Walter  Savage  Landor:  a  biography,  by  John  Forster,  vol.  ii.  pp. 
473,  474. 


34  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

and  that  his  corrections  represented  his  later  opinions, 
not  those  he  entertained  in  1833. 

In  England  Emerson  visited  Coleridge,  Wordsworth, 
and  Carlyle.  His  visit  to  the  latter,  and  their  "quiet 
night  of  clear,  fine  talk."  l  was  the  beginning  of  a  warm 
friendship  and  a  strong  mutual  admiration.  Carlyle 
afterwards  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  the  time  u  when 
that  supernal  vision,  Waldo  Emerson,  dawned  on  him." 
When  Longfellow  went  to  see  him  in  1S35.  with  a  letter 
of  introduction  from  Emerson.  Carlyle  said  Emerson's 
coming  to  Craigenputtoeh  was  ••  like  the  visit  of  an 
angel,"  so  helpful  did  he  find  the  warm  sympathy  and 
generous  appreciation  of  this  young  American.  Emer 
son  preached  a  few  times  in  London  and  elsewhere 
during  his  brief  stay  in  England. 

In  September,  1829.  Emerson  married  Ellen  Louisa 
Tucker,  to  whom  he  addressed,  while  wooing  her,  that 
exquisite  poem  entitled  To  Ellen  at  the  South.  In 
these  verses  he  compares  her  with  the  flowers ;  and  she 
seems  to  have  been  as  delicate  as  they,  tor  she  died  of 
consumption  in  February,  Ib  _. 

i  Carlyle's  Reminiscences.  In  Harper's  Monthly  for  May,  18*1.  M. 
D.  Comv'ay  gives  Carlyle's  account  of  Emerson's  visit,  as  related  the 
night  of  the  Edinburgh  University  address.  Other  incidents,  with  a 
letter  of  Emerson's  written  in  1833,  describing  his  visits  to  Carlyle  and 
Wordsworth,  are  giveii  in  Couway's  book  on  Thomas  Carlyle. 


THE  NEW   CABEEB.  35 


IV. 

THE  NEW  CAREER. 

AFTER  an  absence  of  several  months,  Emerson 
returned  to  Boston,  fully  restored  to  health.  He 
gave  several  lectures  there  during  the  winter,  which 
were  well  attended,  and  were  well  received  by  those 
who  heard  them.  One  of  these  lectures  was  on  Water, 
and  was  given  before  the  Mechanics'  Institute.  Another 
subject  was  The  Relations  of  Man  to  the  Globe.  He 
also  gave  two  lectures  on  his  visit  to  Italy.  He  preached 
only  once  in  the  pulpit  of  the  Second  Church  after  his 
return.  This  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  death  of  a 
Boston  merchant  of  great  integrity.  He  discoursed  of 
the  means  by  which  the  ideal,  the  truly  saintly,  life,  may 
be  lived  in  the  midst  of  daily  business. 

Not  long  after  his  return  from  Europe  he  began 
preaching  in  the  Unitarian  church  in  New  Bedford, 
and  remained  there  for  several  months.  In  1834  he 
received  a  call  to  settle  there,  but  he  declined  to  accept 
it..  He  became  greatly  attached  to  that  congregation, 
however,  and  especially  to  the  Quaker  portion  of  it. 
During  the  controversy  among  the  Friends,  in  1825  and 
later,  growing  out  of  the  preaching  of  Elias  Hicks, 
those  who  separated  from  the  Orthodox  body  con 
nected  themselves  with  the  Unitarian  church.  They 
felt  that  the  Friends  had  fallen  away  from  their  early 
simplicity  and  spirituality,  and  had  made  forms  and 
dogmas  out  of  their  own  methods,  instead  of  following 
the  spirit  in  the  life  of  each  new  day.  They  were  at 
first  known  as  "  New  Lights,"  and  attracted  the  deeply 
interested  attention  of  Dr.  Channing.  Emerson's  pro 
test  against  the  formality  of  the  communion  service 
drew  them  to  him,  while  his  own  lofty  spirituality  satis- 


36  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

fied  their  ideas  of  the  religious  life.  He  was  specially 
drawn  to  a  remarkable  woman  among  these  people,  — • 
Mary  Rotch,  one  of  their  preachers,  —  who  was  noted  as 
much  for  her  sound  sense  as  for  a  saintly  life  and  a  rich 
power  of  spiritual  expression.  Emerson  saw  much  of 
her,  and  afterwards  expressed  his  great  indebtedness  to 
her  life  and  teachings.  One  who  heard  him  at  this  time 
in  New  Bedford  has  given  the  following  account  of  the 
impression  he  made  :  — 

"  One  day  there  came  into  our  pulpit  the  most  gracious  of  mor 
tals,  with  a  face  all  benignity,  who  gave  out  the  first  hymn  and 
made  the  first  prayer  as  an  ano-el  might  have  read  and  pra>cd. 
Our  choir  was  a  pretty  good  one,  but  itsl>est  was  coarse;  and  discord 
ant  after  Emerson's  voice.  I  remember  of  the  sermon  only  that  it 
had  an  indefinite  charm  of  simplicity  and  wisdom,  with  occasional 
illustrations  from  nature,  which  were  about  the  most  delicate  and 
dainty  things  of  the  kind  which  I  had  ever  heard.  I  could  under 
stand  them,  if  not  the  fresh  philosophical  novelty  of  the  discourse. 
Mr.  Emerson  preached  for  us  for  a  good  many  Sundays,  lodging  in 
the  house  of  a  Quaker  lady,  just  below  ours.  Seated  at  my  own 
door,  I  saw  him  often  go  by ;  and  once,  in  the  exuberance  of  my 
childish  admiration,  I  ventured  to  nod  to  him,  and  to  say  «  Good- 
morning.'  To  my  astonishment  he  also  nodded,  and  smilingly 
said  '  Good-morning ; '  and  that  is  all  the  conversation  I  ever  had 
with  the  sage  of  Concord.  He  gave  us  afterwards  two  lectures 
based  upon  his  travels  abroad,  and  was  at  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
to  hang  up  prints,  by  way  of  illustration.  There  was  a  picture 
of  the  tribune  in  the  Uffizi  Gallery  in  Florence,  painted  by  one  of 
our  townsmen ;  and  I  recall  Mr.  Emerson's  great  anxiety  that  it 
should  have  a  good  light,  and  his  lamentation  when  a  good  light 
was  found  to  be  impossible.  The  lectures 1  themselves  were  so  fine 
—  enchanting,  we  found  them  — that  I  have  hungered  to  see  them 
in  print,  and  have  thought  of  the  evenings  on  which  they  were 
delivered  as  'true  Arabian  Nights.'"2 

In  the  summer  of  1834  he  went  to  Concord,  and 
found  a  home  in  the  "  Old  Manse  "  with  Dr.  Ripley.  He 
was  probably  drawn  there  for  study  and  meditation; 
and  perhaps  the  purpose  was  already  forming  of  find 
ing  there  a  home,  and  devoting  himself  to  a  literary 
career.  He  was  also  moved  by  his  love  of  nature  to 

1  Probably  the  two  he  gave  in  Boston  immediately  after  his  return 
from  Europe. 

2  Reminiscences   of   a  Journalist,  by  Charles  T.  Congdon,   p    33 
Printed  originally  in  the  New  York  Tribune  for  Dec.  23, 1879. 


THE  NEW  CAREER.  37 

select  Concord  as  a  home.  "  I  am  a  poet  by  nature," 
he  said  at  this  time,  uand  therefore  must  live  in  the 
country." 

In  February,  1835,  he  began  a  course  of  biographical 
lectures  in  Boston.  The  first  was  an  introductory  one, 
on  the  advantages  of  biography ;  and  it  was  followed  by 
others  on  Luther,  Milton,  Burke,  Michael  Angelo,  and 
George  Fox.  These  lectures  were  well  attended,  and 
won  him  many  friends  and  admirers,  among  them 
Alcott.  In  the  lecture  on  Milton,  there  is  a  word 
about  Milton's  religious  opinions  which  may  give  a  hint 
of  the  tendencies  of  his  own  thinking  at  this  time :  — 

"  The  most  devout  man  of  his  time,  he  says,  frequented  no 
church  ;  probably  from  a  disgust  at  the  fierce  spirit  of  the  pulpits. 
And  so,  throughout  all  his  actions  and  opinions,  is  he  a  consistent 
spiritualist,  or  believer  in  the  omnipotence  of  spiritual  laws." 

This  lecture  and  that  on  Michael  Angelo  were  soon 
after  published ; !  and  they  show  maturity  of  thought, 
familiarity  with  the  subject,  and  a  rare  philosophical 
insight.  The  same  thought  and  spirit  were  carried  into 
a  lecture  before  the  American  Institute  of  Instruction, 
in  August  of  this  year,  when  he  spoke  of  The  Means 
of  Inspiring  a  Taste  for  English  Literature. 

On  the  12th  of  September  he  gave  an  historical 
address  in  Concord,  it  being  the  second  centennial 
anniversary  of  the  incorporation  of  the  town.  The  de 
sire  to  commemorate  the  planting  of  the  town,  he  says, 
is  just  and  wise. 

"  And  yet,  in  the  eternity  of  nature,  how  recent  our  antiquities 
appear  1  The  imagination  is  impatient  of  a  cycle  so  short.  Who 
can  tell  how  many  thousand  years,  every  day,  the  clouds  have 
shaded  these  fields  with  their  purple  awning  ?  The  river,  by  whose 
banks  most  of  us  were  born,  every  winter  for  ages  has  spread  its 
crust  of  ice  over  the  great  meadows  which  in  ages  it  had  formed. 
But  the  little  society  of  men  who  now,  for  a  few  years,  fish  in  this 
river,  plow  the  fields  it  washes,  mow  the  grass,  and  reap  the  corn, 
shortly  shall  hurry  from  its  banks  as  did  their  forefathers.  '  Man's 
life,'  said  the  Druid  to  the  Saxon  king,  '  is  the  sparrow  that  enters 

1  That  on  Milton  in  North  American  Review  for  July,  1838,  and  ihat 
on  Angelo  in  the  same  Review,  in  January,  18o7. 


38  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

at  a  window,  flutters  round  the  house,  and  flies  out  at  another,  and 
none  knoweth  whence  he  came,  or  whither  he  goes.'  The  more 
reason  that  we  should  give  to  our  being  what  permanence  we  can ; 
that  we  should  recall  the  past,  and  expect  the  future." 

Alluding  to  the  permanence  of  the  Concord  names, 
he  said  there  still  remained  "  the  lineal  descendants  ot 
the  first  settlers  of  this  town."  "  If  the  name  of  Bulke- 
ley  is  wanting-,  the  honor  you  have  done  me  this  day  in 
making  me  your  organ  testifies  your  persevering  kind 
ness  to  his  blood."  He  then  sketches  the  history  of 
Concord  through  its  two  centuries  with  great  care,  and 
in  a  graphic  manner.  Near  the  close  of  his  address  he 
gives  this  picture  of  the  town :  — 

"I  find  our  annals  marked  with  uniform  good  sense.  I  find 
no  ridiculous  laws,  no  eavesdropping  legislators,  no  hanging  of 
witches,  no  ghosts,  no  whipping  of  Quakers,  no  unnatural  crimes. 
The  tone  of  the  records  rises  with  the  dignity  of  the  event.  These 
soiled  and  musty  books  are  luminous  and  electric  within.  The  old 
town-clerks  did  not  spell  very  correctly,  but  they  contrive  to  make 
pretty  intelligible  the  will  of  a  free  and  just  community.  Frugal 
our  fathers  were,  — very  frugal,—  though,  for  the  most  part,  they 
deal  generously  by  their  minister,  and  provide  well  for  the  schools 
and  the  poor.  If,  at  any  time,  in  common  with  most  of  our  towns, 
they  have  carried  this  economy  to  the  verge  of  vice,  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  a  town  is,  in  many  respects,  a  financial  corpora 
tion.  They  economize,  that  they  may  sacrifice.  They  stint  and 
higgle  on  the  price  of  a  pew,  that  they  may  send  two  hundred 
soldiers  to  Gen.  Washington  to  keep  Great  Britain  at  bay.  For 
splendor,  there  must  be  somewhere  rigid  economy.  That  the  head 
of  the  house  may  go  brave,  the  members  must  be  plainly  clad ;  and 
the  town  must  save  that  the  State  may  spend." l 

In  September  of  this  year  he  married  Lydia  Jackson, 
daughter  of  Charles  Jackson  of  Plymouth.2  Immedi 
ately  after  their  marriage  Emerson  occupied  the  house 
where  he  has  lived  ever  since.  It  is  at  the  eastern 

1  This  address  was  at  once  printed  by  request,  with  a  page  of  his 
grandfather's  journal  giving  an  account  of  the  Concord  fight.    A  new 
edition  was  printed  in  1875.     Bancroft  made  use  of  it  iii  writing  his 
account  of  the  Concord  fight  in  his  history. 

2  Her  family  is  descended  from  Rev.  John  Cotton,  and  from  some 
of  the  earliest  of  the  Plymouth  settlers.    Dr.  C.  T.  Jackson,  the  dis 
coverer  of  anesthetics,  one  of  the  ablest  of  American  scientists,  was 
her  brother. 


THE   NEW   CAREER.  39 

edge  of  the  village,  on  the  Cambridge  turnpike,  op 
posite  the  point  where  it  divides  from  the  Lexington 
road ;  was  built  in  1828,  and  is  a  plain,  unpretentious 
house  of  goodly  size.  His  mother  soon  became  a  mem 
ber  of  his  family,  and  remained  with  him  until  her 
death  in  1853. 

In  December  he  began  a  course  of  ten  lectures  in 
Boston  on  English  literature.  The  first  two  were  on 
the  earliest  writers ;  and  there  were  others  on  Chaucer, 
Bacon,  Shakspere,  and  all  the  great  English  literary 
masters.  In  the  last  lecture  he  spoke  of  Byron,  Scott, 
Dugald  Stewart,  Mackintosh,  and  Coleridge.  He  placed 
Coleridge  among  the  sages  of  the  world ;  but  expressed 
himself  as  little  in  sympathy  with  the  literary  spirit  of 
the  time,  though  he  did  not  despair  of  reform. 

On  the  19th  of  April,  1825,  the  corner-stone  of  a 
monument  was  laid  in  Concord,  to  commemorate  the 
Concord  fight.  Edward  Everett  gave  the  oration. 
Emerson  offered  this  toast :  "  The  little  bush  that 
marks  the  spot  where  Capt.  Davis  fell,  —  'tis  the  burning 
bush  where  God  spoke  for  his  people."  April  19,  1836, 
a  meeting  was  held  on  the  completion  of  this  monu 
ment,  when  a  hymn  written  for  the  occasion  by  Emer 
son  was  read  by  Dr.  Ripley,  and  sung  to  the  tune  of 
Old  Hundred.  It  was  that  containing  the  immortal 
lines,  — 

"  Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world." 

He  wrote  other  poems  at  this  period,  some  of  his  very 
best,  many  of  which  were  afterwards  printed  in  The 
Dial. 

He  returned  now  to  studies  out  of  which  grew  his 
idealism.  Plato  was  read  more  diligently  than  ever. 
While  teaching  in  Boston,  he  had  made  himself  famil 
iar  with  Plutarch.  In  1835  he  began  to  study  Ploti- 
nus,  and  other  writers  of  the  same  class.  The  German 
mystics  attracted  his  attention,  as  did  the  English  ideal 
ists.  The  same  year  he  was  reading,  with  the  keenest 
relish  and  enthusiasm,  the  poems  of  George  Herbert, 


40  BALPH  WALDO   EMEBSOX. 

and  the  prose  writings  of  Cudworth,  Henry  More.  Mil 
ton,  Coleridge,  and  Jeremy  Taylor.  As  the  result  of 
these  studies,  while  living  in  "the  "  Old  Manse "  he 
wrote  a  little  book  on  Nature,  in  which  he  gave 
expression  to  his  philosophical  opinions.  It  was  pub 
lished  in  September,  1836.  The  author's  name  was  not 
given.  The  title-page  bore  these  words  from  Plotinus, 
Mature  is  but  an  image  or  imitation  of  wisdom,  the 
last  thing  of  the  soul ;  nature  being  a  thing  which  doth 
only  do,  but  not  know.  I  >  leading  thought  is  that 
contained  in  its  original  mono.  — 

"  A  subtle  chain  of  countless  rings 
The  next  unto  the  farthest  brings; 
The  eye  reads  omens  where  it  goes, 
And  speaks  all  languages  the  rose ; 
And,  striving  to  be  man,  the  worm 
Mounts  through  all  the  spires  of  form." 

I*,  .s  pure  idealism  which  he  teaches  throughout  this 
little  book  of  less  than  one  hundred  pages,  —  an  ideal 
ism  rare,  subtle,  and  noble.  The  univer.se  exists,  he  says, 
to  the  end  of  discipline ;  and  it  may  be  doubted  "  wheth 
er  nature  outwardly  exists."  Nature  always  speaks  of 
spirit,  and  exists  only  for  the  unfolding  of  a  spiritual 
being.  This  Is  the  thought  of  the  book,  and  it  Is  writ 
ten  to  vindicate  this  philosophy.  The  soul  needs  to  be 
developed,  and  to  that  end  should  be  all  our  living, 
tead,  man  applies  to  nature  but  half  his  force,  and 
live.-  a.  low  commercial  life,  a  life  of  the  senses. 

II          .  '.-loped    his  ideas  in   X'j.tu.ra   more   systemat 
ically  than  elsewhere ;  and  he  has  given  there  a  very 

..pie.  and  yet  a  e  tent,  -tern  of  philo-ophy.  A 
glance  at  what  he  attempts  there  to  do  will  open  the 
way  to  an  understanding  of  all  his  subsequent  teach 
ing  •  II •:  PTltes  v.-ith  the  jrreate-4  enthusiasm  of  the 
attractions  of  nature,  and  finds  the  source  of  that  at 
traction  in  the  harmony  which  <•:. '  i  ween  man  and 
the  outward  world.  The  fir.-t  u-e  nature  has  for  ma;, 
that  it  ministers  to  the  wants  of  the  I  vers, 
however,  to  a  higher  want  still,  th  •  love-  of  beas.ty.  Its 


THE  NEW   CAREER.  41 

beautiful  forms  delight  him,  but  the  heroic  actions  of 
men  add  to  it  a  higher  charm.  It  becomes  also  a  teach 
er  of  the  intellect,  re-forming  itself  in  the  harmonious 
action  of  the  mind.  Nature  rises  higher  than  beaut}% 
and  becomes  an  instrument  of  language,  the  vehicle  of 
thought.  The  use  of  the  outer  creation  is  to  give  us 
language  for  the  beings  and  changes  of  the  inward 
creation,  and  nature  becomes  an  aid  in  understanding 
the  supernatural.  Natural  facts  give  us  words  as  their 
signs,  and  in  a  yet  more  perfect  manner  nature  is  itself 
emblematic  of  the  spiritual  facts  on  which  it  rests. 
"  Every  natural  fact  is  a  symbol  of  some  spiritual  fact. 
Every  appearance  in  nature  corresponds  to  some,  state 
of  the  mind,  and  that  state  of  the  mind  can  only  be 
described  by  presenting  that  natural  appearance  as  its 
picture."  Nature  becomes  a  means  of  expression  for 
those  spiritual  truths  and  experiences  which  could  not 
otherwise  be  interpreted.  Its  laws,  also,  are  moral 
laws  when  applicable  to  man ;  and  so  they  become  to 
man  the  language  of  the  divine  will. 

Because  the  physical  laws  become  moral  laws  the 
moment  they  are  related  to  human  conduct,  nature  has 
a  much  higher  purpose  than  that  of  beauty  or  language, 
in  that  it  is  a  discipline.  At  first  it  is  a  disciple  to  the 
understanding  in  intellectual  truths;  it  trains  reason, 
and  it  develops  the  intellect.  Nature  is  the  great  moral 
teacher,  its  every  fact  and  law  a  means  of  ethical  cul 
ture.  All  parts  of  nature  conspire  to  this  one  end  of 
discipline. 

"All  things  are  moral,  and  in  their  boundless  changes  have  an 
unceasing  reference  to  spiritual  nature.  Every  animal  function, 
from  the  sponge  up  to  Hercules,  shall  hint  or  thunder  to  man  the 
laws  of  right  and  wrong,  and  echo  the  trn  commandments.  This 
ethical  character  so  penetrates  the  bone  and  marrow  of  nature,  as 
to  secure  the  end  for  which  it.  was  made.  Mvery  natural  process  is 
a  version  of  a  moral  sentence.  The  moral  law  lies  at  the  center  of 
nature  ;md  radiates  to  the  circumference.  It  is  the  pith  and  marrow 
of  every  siihslance,  every  relation,  and  every  process.  All  things 
with  which  we  deal  preach  to  US."  • 

So  thoroughly  does  nature  answer  to  this  end  of  dis 
cipline,  we  begin  to  question  if  this  is  not  its  only  use, 


42  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

and  if  nature  outwardly  exists.  "It  is  a  sufficient 
account  of  that  appearance  we  call  the  world,  that  God 
will  teach  a  human  mind,  and  so  makes  it  the  receiver  of 
a  certain  number  of  congruent  sensations,  which  we  call 
sun  and  moon,  man  and  woman,  house  and  trade."  It 
is  here  we  see  Emerson's  resemblance  to  Swedenborg,  in 
that  he  cares  for  nature  only  as  a  symbol  and  revelation 
of  spiritual  realities.  Because  we  are  led  to  doubt  the 
reality  of  outward  nature,  we  are  led  on  to  idealism. 
The  first  work  of  the  ideal  philosophy  is  to  emancipate 
us  from  the  dominion  of  the  senses,  opening  to  us  a 
larger  life.  It  teaches  us  that  the  laws  of  the  natural 
world  are  the  ideas  of  the  spiritual.  We  cease  to  believe 
in  matter  as  final;  and  our  attention  is  fastened  "upon 
immortal  necessary  uncreated  natures,  that  is,  upon 
ideas;  and  in  their  presence  we  feel  that  the  outward  is  a 
dream  and  a  shade."  Then  nature  becomes  "  an  appen 
dix  of  the  soul."  So  looking  upon  nature  we  apprehend 
the  absolute ;  and,  as  it  were,  for  the  first  time  we  exist. 
Religion  and  ethics  constantly  teach  us  that  nature 
depends  on  spirit ;  that  the  seen  and  outward  world  is 
temporal,  while  the  unseen  and  spiritual  is  eternal. 
Idealism  gives  consistency  to  this  teaching,  sees  the 
world  in  God,  so  that  it  is  at  each  moment  his  direct 
revelation.  Then  we  find  that  nature  Always  speaks 
of  spirit,  suggests  the  absolute,  is  a  perpetual  effect  of 
divine  causes,  is  a  great  shadow  pointing  to  the  sun 
behind  it.  The  aspect  of  nature  is  devout,  teaches  the 
lesson  of  worship,  to  stand  before  God  with  bended 
head ;  but  when  we  try  to  describe  him,  both  language 
and  thought  desert  us.  and  then  we  find  that  nature  is 
but  the  apparition  of  God. 

Idealism  teaches  us  that  in  consciousness  is  the  only 
source  of  knowledge ;  the  world  is  a  dream,  a  shadow, 
but  "  the  mind  is  a  part  of  the  nature  of  things."  God 
is  directly  revealed  to  the  soul  of  man ;  and  we  learn 
that  "  the  t  Universal  Essenoo,  which  is  not  wisdom  or 
love  or  beauty  or  power,  but  all  in  one  and  each 
entirely,  is  that  for  which  all  things  exist,  and  that  by 
which  they  are ;  that  spirit  creates ;  that  behind  nature, 


THE   NEW   CAREER.  43 

throughout  nature,  spirit  is  present ;  one,  and  not  com 
pound,  it  does  not  act  upon  us  from  without,  that  is, 
in  space  and  time,  but  spiritually,  or  through  ourselves." 
The  world  is  a  remoter  and  inferior  incarnation  of  God, 
a  projection  of  God  in  the  unconscious ;  but  it  is  of  the 
same  spirit  with  the  body  of  man.  It  is  a  present  and 
a  fixed  expositor  of  the  divine  mind,  and  serves  always 
to  show  man  his  nearness  to,  or  remoteness  from,  the 
truth. 

This  little  book  met  with  but  a  small  sale,  five  hun 
dred  copies  being  sold  only  after  twelve  years ;  yet  it 
attracted  the  attention  and  the  warmest  enthusiasm  of 
a  few  persons.  In  England  it  met  with  an  even  heartier 
reception  than  here ;  one  writer  praising  it  in  the  most 
cordial  terms,  attributing  its  authorship  to  Alcott,  who 
was  better  known  than  Emerson.  Francis  Bowen 
devoted  an  article  to  it  in  The  Christian  Examiner,1 
criticising  severely  the  transcendental  philosophy. 

"  We  find  beautiful  writing  and  sound  philosophy  in  this  little 
work,  he  says;  but  the  effect  is  injured  by  occasional  vagueness 
of  expression,  and  by  a  vein  of  mysticism  that  pervades  the  writer's 
whole  course  of  thought.  The  highest  praise  that  can  be  accorded 
to  it,  is,  that  it  is  a  suggestive  book ;  for  no  one  can  read  it  without 
tasking  his  faculties  to  the  utmost,  and  relapsing  into  fits  of  severe 
meditation.  But  the  effort  of  perusal  is  often  painful,  the  thoughts 
excited  are  frequently  bewildering,  and  the  results  to  which  they 
lead  us  uncertain  and  obscure.  The  reader  feels  as  in  a  distracted 
dream,  in  which  shows  of  surpassing  beauty  are  around  him,  and 
he  is  conversant  with  disembodied  spirits ;  yet  all  the  time  he  is 
harassed  by  an  uneasy  sort  of  consciousness  that  the  whole  com 
bination  of  phenomena  is  fantastic  and  unreal." 

On  the  other  hand,  a  writer  in  The  Democratic 
Review  was  very  enthusiastic  in  his  praise,  and  said 
that  "the  highest  intellectual  culture  and  the  simplest 
instinctive  innocence  have  received  it,  and  felt  it  to  be 
a  divine  thought,  borne  on  a  stream  of  English  undefiled, 
such  as  we  had  almost  despaired  could  flow  in  this  our 
world  of  grist  and  saw  mills."  He  finds  evidence  of 
"  the  highest  imaginative  power "  in  it,  while  "  it 
proves  to  iis  that  the  only  true  and  perfect  mind  is  the 
poetic." 

i  January,  1837. 


44  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON". 

During  the  summer  of  1836  the  Rev.  H.  B.  Goodwin, 
pastor  of  the  Unitarian  church  in  Concord,  owing  to  ill 
health  was  not  able  to  occupy  his  pulpit.  Emerson 
supplied  it  for  him  for  three  months.  He  had  continued 
to  preach  from  time  to  time,  after  declining  the  invita 
tion  to  New  Bedford,  as  opportunity  offered.  In  the 
autumn  of  1836  he  began  to  preach  in  East  Lexington 
to  a  small  society  recently  formed  there,  which  wor 
shipped  in  a  hall. 

One  of  his  sermons  preached  in  Boston  was  on  the 
judgment-seat  of  Christ,  which  he  said  was  always  set 
up  in  the  world,  and  that  it  consisted  in  the  deep,  inte 
rior  truths  of  Christianity,  which  were  always  judging 
men  by  their  high  ideals.  Another  sermon  was  on 
wonder,  and  was  full  of  devoutness.  He  was  in  these, 
as  in  his  later  sermons  at  Concord  and  East  Lexington, 
engaged  in  presenting  those  ideas  he  has  made  so  famil 
iar  since.  His  conception  of  compensation,  of  the 
analogies  of  nature  and  the  moral  life,  of  the  absolute 
unity  of  the  universe,  and  many  others,  about  which  he 
has  written  so  much,  were  all  stated  in  these  sermons. 
In  an  exceedingly  simple  and  suggestive  manner  he 
illustrated  the  greatest  spiritual  truths,  and  with  a 
charm  and  a  magnetism  which  attracted  and  held  the 
admiration  of  alLj^  tn  one  of  these  sermons  he  spoke 
of  the  unity  of  God  as  being  the  cause  and  explana 
tion  of  all  fixed  laws ;  and  said,  that  because  he  is  one 
we  see  harmony  and  order  in  all  created  things.  As  a 
result,  the  'inner  and  outer  man  correspond  to  each 
other ;  every  truth  is  related  to  every  other ;  while  every 
atom  of  matter  is  connected  with  every  other,  and  ruled 
by  the  same  laws.  He  then  dwelt  upon  the  idea  that 
each  thing  has  in  it  the  laws,  conditions,  and  possibil 
ities  of  all  things.  In  morals,  also,  this  is  true,  he  said ; 
for  all  circumstances  reach  the  same  truths.  One  vir 
tue  opens  the  way  to  all  virtue,  for  virtue  is  one  in 
essence.  One  truth  will  bring  a  knowledge  of  all 
truth ;  for  truth  is  always  the  same,  a  united  whole. 
The  spirit  of  virtue  or  knowledge  in  one  thing  is  the 
key  to  all  virtue  and  knowledge. 


THE   NEW    CAKEEK.  45 

At  another  time  he  took  for  his  text  the  words,  "  Do 
Ttiyself  no  harm."  He  said  that  every  man  within  him 
self  is  capable  of  infinite  happiness  or  misery.  There 
is  no  power  which  can  harm  us  if  we  do  our  duty,  and 
do  not  harm  ourselves.  There  is  an  everlasting  superi 
ority  in  virtue  to  all  evil.  No  one  but  himself  can  hurt 
.any  man.  He  is  his  own  worst  enemy  or  friend,  so 
there  is  great  danger  from  self.  The  law  at  the  foun 
dation  of  all  things  is  retribution,  he  said.  This  makes 
every  act  important,  because  it  is  inevitably  followed 
by  its  necessary  consequences,  bears  fruit  in  its  kind. 
If  an  atom  be  moved,  all  things  in  the  universe  are 
affected  by  it ;  and  this  law  is  no  less  true  in  moral 
action.  Every  act  re-acts  on  the  actor,  and  we  receive 
precisely  according  to  our  deeds.  In  our  success  we 
see  the  connection  of  cause  and  effect,  and  attribute  it 
to  our  own  efforts ;  but  in  misfortune  we  attribute  the 
consequences  of  our  conduct  to  our  fellow-men,  to  luck, 
or  to  providence.  Men  forget  that  vices  draw  blanks, 
as  surely  as  virtues  draw  prizes,  in  what  they  are 
pleased  to  call  the  lottery  of  life.  The  industrious  man 
seeks  wealth,  and  finds  it.  Let  not  the  intellectual 
man  murmur  at  the  ills  of  fortune,  for  he  did  not  seek 
wealth.  /Tit  was  not  the  consequence  jof  his  pursuit ; 
but  he  sought  knowledge,  and  found  it^J  If  we  do  self 
110  harm,  no  real  evil  can  happen  to  us.  We  should 
not  fear  that  which  kills  the  body,  and  can  do  no  more ; 
for  that  is  not  an  absolute  evil.  The  loss  of  purity, 
the  loss  of  simplicity,  the  loss  of  honesty,  are  real 
losses ;  but  they  befall  us  only  by  our  own  consent. 
By  industry  we  receive  riches,  but  by  goodness  and  up 
rightness  the  eternal  riches  of  virtue.  No  one- can  gain 
by  a  vicious  action.  The  gain  is  apparent,  outward; 
but  the  loss  is  lasting,  permanent.  It  is  parting  with  a 
part  of  our  soul.  Happy  he  who  brings  this  truth 
home  to  his  mind,  that  whatsoever  wrong  he'  does  his 
conscience,  he  does  himself^more  harm  than  can  be 
done  by  all  the  outward  worhD  The  consequences  may 
not  be  believed,  for  they  are  not  sudden  ;  yet  they  are 
sure.  Who  would  not  forego  a  temptation,  an  animal 


46  RALPH   WALDO  EMEESOX. 

delight,  a  sinful  pleasure,  for  the  reward  of  a  peaceful 
conscience,  an  ascending  character,  and  in  preparation 
of  an  endless  future?  No  one  can  remember  a  good 
act  or  thought  which  he  regrets ;  nor  was  there  ever  a 
good  act  in  the  world,  in  history,  or  among  those  we 
know,  which  we  can  regret. 

His  religious  convictions  had  now  taken  on  a  dis 
tinctly  spiritual  form,  but  they  were  vigorous  and  pro 
found.  In  August  of  1836  Alcott  made  him  a  visit, 
and  found  him  remarkably  given  to  the  highest  expres 
sion  of  the  religious  spirit.  In  the  morning  he  read 
from  the  Bible  in  the  simplest  and  most  impressive 
manner,  making  the  words  he  read  natural  with  life ; 
and  he  made  a  prayer  as  if  he  were  communing  face  to 
face  with  God,  in  a  spirit  as  trustful  as  a  child's.  In 
like  manner  his  "blessing"  at  the  table  was  utterly 
void  of  all  cant,  was.  not  in  the  least  artificial,  but  the 
expression  of  a  sincerely  thankful  heart,  full  of  rever 
ence  and  faith  in  the  constant  presence  of  the  wondrous 
miracle  of  life.  Alcott  also  attended  a  wedding  with  " 
him,  which  was  conducted  in  a  manner  so  simple,  and 
followed  by  a  few  words  of  advice  to  the  young  couple 
so  pertinent,  as  to  make  the  whole  ceremony  one  long 
to  remember.  With  Emerson,  through  these  years  as 
ever  after,  religion  meant  perfect  sincerity,  utter  loy 
alty  to  every  conviction.  Because  he  followed  no  con 
ventional  forms,  he  gave  a  newness  of  life  to  every 
expression  of  his  own  beliefs.  Simplicity,  candor,  trust 
fulness,  courage,  marked  all  his  words  on  spiritual 
themes,  and  gave  them  a  noble  beauty  and  impres- 
siveness. 

During  the  year  1836  Emerson  edited  Carlyle's  Sar 
tor  Resartus,  from  the  pages  of  Fraser's  Magazine,  be 
fore  it  appeared  in  book-form  in  England.  It  is  worthy 
of  remembrance  that  this,  as  well  as  the  other  earlier 
books  of  Carlyle,  met  with  a  success  here  far  greater 
than  that  they  obtained  in  England.  XVhile  attracting 
little  attention  there,  they  were  eagerly  read  by  many 
persons  here.  Emerson  received  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  from  the  sale  of  the  American  edition  of  this 


THE   NEW    CAREER.  .  47 

volume  (according  to  Carlyle's  Reminiscences),  which 
proved  quite  an  encouragement  to  the  author  at  the 
beginning  of  his  career  in  London.  Emerson  wrote 
a  preface  for  the  book,  in  which  he  said,  — 

"  The  foreign  dress  and  aspect  of  the  work  are  quite  superfi 
cial,  and  cover  a  genuine  Saxon  heart.  We  believe  no  book  has 
been  published,  for  many  years,  written  in  a  more  sincere  style  of 
idiomatic  English,  or  which  discovers  an  equal  mastery  over  all 
the  riches  of  language.  The  author  makes  ample  amends  for  the 
occasional  eccentricity  of  his  genius,  not  only  by  frequent  bursts  of 
pure  splendor,  but  by  the  wit  and  sense  which  never  fail  him."  Ha 
has  "  an  insight  into  the  manifold  wants  and  tendencies  of  human 
nature,  which  is  very  rare  among  our  popular  authors.  The  philos 
ophy  and  the  purity  of  moral  sentiment,  which  inspire  the  work, 
will  find  their  way  to  the  heart  of  every  lover  of  virtue." 

In  1838  Emerson  collected  Carlyle's  miscellaneous 
writings,  from  the  pages  of  the  English  reviews,  and 
published  them  in  three  volumes,  as  his  Critical  and 
Miscellaneous  Essays.  This  was  done  also  before  they 
were  put  into  a  book  in  England.  In  the  brief  preface 
he  speaks  of  the  influence  they  had  exerted  in  New 
England,  and  how  they  spoke  to  many  youthful  minds, 
"with  an  emphasis  that  hindered  them  from  sleep." 
These  essays  had  early  attracted  Emerson's  attention, 
and  had  a  decided  influence  on  his  thinking.  They  in 
troduced  him  to  the  world  of  German  thought,  and, 
with  Sartor  Resartus,  helped  to  shape  his  career.  His 
mind  had  been  already  prepared  by  his  reading  for  an 
immediate  acceptance  of  these  teachings.  Hence  the 
eagerness  with  which  he  read  these  essays  as  they 
appeared,- and  his  satisfaction  in  that  new  world  of 
thought  to  which  they  opened  the  way. 

In  December,  1836,  he  began  a  course  of  lectures  in 
Masonic  Hall,  Boston.  It  was  his  habit  to  advertise 
his  subjects,  leave  his  tickets  for  sale  at  some  central 
place,  and,  when  enough  were  sold  to  pay  the  hall-rent, 
begin  his  course.  This  year  the  general  subject  was 
The  Nature  and  Ends  of  History.  There  were  ten 
lectures ;  and  the  special  subjects  were  The  Univer 
sality  of  Spirit,  Art,  Politics,  Religion,  Society,  Trades 


48  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

and  Professions,  Manners,  Ethics,  with  two  lectures  on 
The  Present  Age.  James  Freeman  Clarke  has  given 
the  following  account  of  the  impression  made  by  his 
lectures  at  this  period  :  — 

"The  majority  of  the  sensible,  practical  community  regarded 
him  as  mystical,  as  crazy  or  affected,  as  an  imitator  of  Carlyle,  as 
racked  and  revolutionary,  as  a  fool,  as  one  who  did  not  himself 
know  what  he  meant.  A  small  but  determined  minority,  chiefly 
composed  of  young-  men  and  women,  admired  him  and  believed  in 
him,  took  him  for  their  guide,  teacher,  and  master.  I,  and  most  of 
my  friends,  belonged  to  this  class.  Without  accepting  all  his 
opinions,  or  indeed  knowing  what  they  were,  we  felt  that  he  did 
us  more  good  than  any  other  writer  or  speaker  among  us,  and 
chiefly  in  two  ways,  —  first,  by  encouraging  self-reliance ;  and, 
secondly,  by  encouraging  God-reliance."1 

The  majority  of  the  sensible,  practical  people  were 
well  represented  by  John  Quincy  Adams,  who  wrote  in 
his  journal  that  Emerson,  "after  failing  in  the  every-day 
vocations  of  a  Unitarian  preacher  and  schoolmaster, 
starts  a  new  doctrine  of  transcendentalism,  declares  all 
the  old  revelations  superannuated  and  worn  out,  and 
announces  the  approach  of  new  revelations."  2  He  did 
not  believe  that  the  old  revelations  had  worn  out,  or 
that  the  church  had  gone  to  colored  cobweb,  as  Carlyle 
suggested ; 3  but  he  did  believe  in  the  mighty  truths  of 
a  spiritual  religion,  and  he  taught  those  truths  as  living 
realities.  His  own  conviction  that  religion  is  to  be 
realized  in  the  present,  and  amidst  its  conditions,  was 
so  strong,  his  spirit  of  enthusiastic  affirmation  was  so 
contagious,  his  eloquence  was  so  persuasive,  and  his 
thought  so  inspiring,  he  won  the  admiration  of  some 
of  the  best  minds  of  the  time.  Among  those  he 
influenced,  and  inspired  with  a  larger  sense  of  the  pur 
poses  of  life,  were  several  persons  since  become  famous 
in  literature,  education,  or  reform.  One  of  these  was 
Horace  Mann.  In  a  letter  dated  Boston,  Dec.  9,  1836, 
he  says,4  — 

1  Lecture  delivered   in   his  church  Jan.  8,  1865,  on  The  Religious 
Philosophy  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

2  Memoirs  of  J.  Q.  Adsuns,  vol.  i.  p.  345,  under  date  of  Aug.  2,  1840. 
8  In  the  chapter  entitled  Horoscope,  in  Past  and  Present. 

4  Life  of  Mann  v»v  his  wife. 


THE   NEW   CAREER.  49 

"  Mr.  Emerson,  I  am  sure,  must  be  perpetually  discovering  richer 
worlds  than  those  of  Columbus  or  Herschel.  He  explores,  t<x>,  not 
in  the  scanty  and  barren  region  of  our  physical  firmament,  but  in  a 
spiritual  firmament  of  illimitable  extent,  and  compacted  of  treas 
ures.  I  heard  his  lecture  last  evening.  It  wars  to  human  life  what 
Newton's  Principia  was  to  mathematics,  lie  showed  me  what  I 
have  long  thought  of  so  much,  —  how  much  more  can  be  accom 
plished  by  taking  a  true  view  than  by  great  intellectual  energy. 
Had  Mr.  Emerson  been  set  down  in  a  wrong  place,  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  he  would  have  found  his  way  to  the  right  point 
oi.  view  ;  but  that  he  now  certainly  has  done.  As  a  man  stationed 
in  the  sun  would  see  all  the  planets  moving  round  it  in  one  direc 
tion  and  in  perfect  harmony,  while  to  an  eye  on  the  earth  their 
motions  are  full  of  crossings  and  retrogradations ;  so  he,  from  his 
central  position  in  the  spiritual  world,  discovers  harmony  and  order 
where  others  can  discover  only  confusion  and  irregularity.  His 
lecture  last  evening  was  one  of  the  most  splendid  manifestations  of 
a  truth-seeking  and  truth-compelling  mind  I  ever  heard.  Dr.  Wal 
ter  Channing,  who  sat  beside  me,  said  it  made  his  head  ache. 
Though  his  language  was  transparent,  yet  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  catch  the  great  beauty  and  proportions  of  one  truth  before 
another  was  presented." 

Another  side  of  his  influence  may  be  seen  in  a  letter 
which  Margaret  Fuller  wrote  to  a  friend  in  answer  to  a 
question  as  to  the  nature  of  the  benefits  Emerson  con 
ferred  upon  her. 

"This  influence,  she  writes,  has  been  more  beneficial  to  me 
than  that  of  any  American ;  and  from  him  I  first  learned  what  is 
meant  by  an  inward  life.  Many  other  springs  have  since  fed  the 
stream  of  living  waters,  but  he  first  opened  the  fountain.  That 
the  '  mind  is  its  own  place,'  was  a  dead  phrase  to  me,  till  he  cast 
light  upon  my  mind.  Several  of  his  sermons  stand  apart  in  my 
memory,  like  landmarks  of  my  spiritual  history.  It  would  take  a 
volume  to  tell  what  this  one  influence  did  for  me." 

The  magnetism  alike  of  his  manner  and  of  his  thought 
was  an  inspiration  to  many  minds,  rousing,  stimulating, 
full  of  invigoration,  quickening  to  the  intellect  and  to 
the  moral  nature  in  equal  degree.  Those  who  accepted 
his  influence  were  kindled  with  an  ardent  desire  to  im 
prove  their  own  natures,  and  with  a  zealous  purpose  to 
improve  the  world  about  them. 

During,  this  period  two  of  his  brothers  died,  to  whom 
he  had  been  strongly  attached.  Edward  Bliss  Emerson 
was  a  man  of  great  brilliancy  and  promise,  of  a  sturdy 


50  HALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

and  robust  moral  nature,  severe  and  high-toned  in  his 
ideas  of  duty,  and  incapable,  as  Waldo  said,  of  self- 
indulgence.  He  began  the  study  of  law  with  Daniel 
Webster,  worked  too  hard,  denied  himself  sufficient 
food  and  exercise,  broke  down  in  health,  and  became 
insane.  He  recovered  his  reason  after  a  time.  Return 
ing  to  his  studies,  he  soon  found  his  health  inadequate 
for  continuing  them  permanently.  In  1832  he  went  to 
Porto  Rico,  and  took  a  clerkship  there.  He  strongly 
attached  himself  to  the  people  about  him,  became  rec 
onciled  to  the  abandonment  of  his  cherished  plans  of 
life ;  but  he  succumbed  to  the  influences  of  the  climate, 
and  died  in  1834. 

Charles  Chauncy  Emerson  graduated  at  Harvard  in 
1828,  studied  law  with  Samuel  Hoar  of  Concord,  and 
became  engaged  in  marriage  to  his  daughter  Elizabeth. 
'Waldo  said  he  never  moved  save  in  the  curve  of 
beauty ;  but  he  had  a  varied  capacity,  and  could  turn 
his  attention  to  every  subject  and  occupation.  He  died 
of  consumption  May  9,  1806.  In  his  metrical  essay  on 
Poetry,  O.  W.  Holmes,  his  companion  in  the  univer 
sity,  wrote  this  tribute  to  his  memory :  — 

"  Thou  calm,  chaste  scholar !     I  can  see  thee  now, 
The  first  young  laurels  on  thy  pallid  brow, 
O'er  thy  slight  figure  floating  lightly  down 
In  graceful  folds  the  academic  gown, 
On  thy  curled  lip  the  classic  lines,  that  taught 
How  nice  the  mind  that  sculptured  them  with  thought ; 
And  triumph  glistening  in  the  clear  blue  eye 
Too  bright  to  live,  —  but  oh,  too  fair  to  die !  " 

Both  these  young  men  gave  great  promise  for  the 
future,  and  the  little  they  did  of  literary  work  was  of 
the  very  best.  Rockwood  Hoar,  writing  of  the  history 
of  the  Concord  Lyceum,  says,  — 

"  They  gave  us  loftier  truths  from  sweeter  lips  than  this  genera 
tion  knows.  The  only  time  I  ever  heard  Edward  Bliss  Emerson 
speak  in  public  was  before  the  Concord  Lyceum,  when  he  delivered 
a  lecture  on  the  'Geography  of  Asia,' — a  subject  which,  to  the 
school-boy,  sounded  dry.  lie  stood  up  in  the  hall  over  the  old 
academy,  with  a  large  map  with  a  painted  outline  of  Asia  upon  it, 
with  a  wand  in  liis  hand,  and  entranced  the  attention  of  the  audi- 


THE   NEW   CAREER.  51 

ence.  I  remember  now  but  one  line  of  that  lecture.  I  remember 
that  from  hearing  it  fifty  years  ago,  —  the  last  line  of  a  poetical 
quotation  with  which  he  closed,  — 

'And  seek  no  other  resting-place  but  heaven.' 

Charles  Chauncy  Emerson's  lecture  on  Socrates  was  the  most  stir 
ring  appeal  to  the  young  men  which,  at  that  tune,  they  had  ever 
heard,  closing  with  the  line,  — 

'  God  for  thee  has  done  his  part,  do  thine.'  " 

Many  notes  from  the  journal  of  Charles  were  after 
wards  printed  in  The  Dial,  which  justify  all  the  praises 
of  his  friends.  Waldo  had  the  most  perfect  faith  in 
these  two  brothers.  His  Dirge  expresses  his  sense  of 
their  loss. 

In  May-Day  and  Other  Pieces  he  writes  of  Edward 
as  the 

"Brother  of  the  brief  but  blazing  star," 

in  one  of  the  most  memorable  poems  of  its  kind,  and 
in  a  strain  of  the  purest  eloquence.  They  looked  to 
him  as  to  a  prophet  and  an  oracle,  such  was  their  confi 
dence  in  his  wisdom;  while  he  trusted  them  in  all 
matters  of  practical  import.  After  their  death  he  took 
a  much  greater  interest  in  public  matters,  feeling  his 
duties  were  increased,  and  that  he  must  fill  more 
perfectly  his  place  as  a  citizen.  Their  loss  was  a  great 
one  to  him,  which  he  felt  most  keenly ;  for  he  was  very 
tenderly  attached  to  them  both.  He  missed  everywhere 
the  presence  of  these 

"  Strong,  star-bright  companions ;  " 
and  in  the  Dirge  his  consoler  says,  — 

"  They  loved  thee  from  their  birth ; 
Their  hands  were  pure,  and  pure  their  faith. 

There  are  no  such  hearts  on  earth. 
Ye  drew  one  mother's  milk, 

One  chamber  held  ye  all ; 
A  very  tender  history 

Did  in  your  childhood  fall." 


52  BALPH   WALDO   EilEESON. 


V. 

THE   ERA  OF   TRANSCENDENTALISM. 

THE  first  twenty-five  years  of  the  present  century 
were  marked,  in  Boston,  by  a  revived  interest  in 
classical  literature.  The  way  was  opened  thereby  to  a 
new  appreciation  of  the  idealistic  philosophy,  creating 
a  taste  for  the  English  transcendentalists,  as  in  the  case 
of  Charming ;  and  then,  a  little  later,  for  those  of  Ger 
many,  as  in  the  case  of  Emerson.  Emerson  began  to 
read  Carlyle  about  the  year  1828,  and  soon  after  he 
read  Wilhelm  Meister  in  Carlyle's  translation. 

Previous  to  the  introduction  of  German  thought  into 
England  by  Coleridge  and  others,  the  influence  of 
Locke  and  Bentham  had  been  predominant.  All  innate 
ideas  were  denied,  and  morality  was  based  on  custom 
or  utility.  To  this  school  of  thought  most  of  the 
English  Unitarians  adhered.  They  were  materialists, 
and  believed  in  a  purely  mechanical  revelation.  The 
like  philosophy  had  prevailed  in  this  country,  and  it 
had  been  a  partial  cause  of  the  Unitarian  protest.  The 
new  thought  was  everywhere  a  re-action  against  it,  an 
attempt  of  the  human  mind  to  recover  a  natural  and 
assured  faith  in  moral  things.  £  It  declared  that  man  has 
innate  ideas,  ancL  a  faculty  transcendingjbhe  senses  and 
the  understanding.  It  identified^morSfftv"5nd  religion, 
and  made  intuition  jtheir  source^  ColerldgglcallS'  this 
transce1pflpnt,facultj''"fe^5Qn^  and  regarded  it  as  an  im 
mediate  beholding  of  supersensible  things.  He  says  it 
can  not  be  called  a  faculty,  and  much  less  a  personal 
property  of  any  human  mind.  We  do  not  possess  it, 
but  partake  ofitjit  isidgntical  with  the  Universal 
Iieason,  a  spnTkTrpm  wVimTT^ftnt^r^  fhf>  human  mind, 
lie  says  then-  is  but  one  reason,  which  all  intelligent 


TRANSCENDENT 


THE  ERA   OF   TRANSCENDENTALISM.  53 

beings  share  in  ;  and  it  is  identical  in  them  all.  This 
idea  became  most  fruitful  in  Emerson's  mind,  thejsource- 
of  his  doctrine  of  the  Over-Soul.  N  In  Coleridge  he  found 
much  eTsFTo"§tmrCrrart^-him.  Wordsworth  gave  him  the 
conception  of  nature  as  alive  with  the  Universal  Spirit, 
and  as  being  the  Universal  Reason  embodied  and  out 
wardly  expressed  as  law  and  order.  These  ideas  were 
confirmed  by  the  German  thinkers.  Herder  regarded 
all  religion  as  an  intuition,  and  looked  upon  genius  in 
the  great  man  as  the  world's  chief  progressive  force,  as 
the  source  of  all  rightful  activity.  Goej^ie-^even  more 
than  Wnrf1ft\ynrjj^t,n.off^  and  enthusiastic 

love  of  nature,  and  brought  men  to  look  on  it  as.  an 
intimate  ancT  confidential  friend.  By__idL_tha_  great 
Germans  individuality  was  constantly  preached,  for 
they  regarded  each  -^iLfliL/*  Tlflw  p-ypTftssirm  <^p  Univer 
sal  Reason.  ~!ts"the  real  source  of  truth  is_ intuition,  we 
must  look  inwardly,  rely'  oh  reason  as  it  speaks  in  us ; 
and  not  outwardly,  to  history  and  social  customs. 

Such  are  some  of  the  ideas  and  influences  which 
affected  Emerson  and  his  friends  at  this  time.  The 
conventional  and  historical  came  to  be  less  important ; 
and  the  natural,  the  common,  acquired  a  new  interest. 
Nature  wore  a  new  face,  and  science  was  found  to 
have  a  new  and  richer  attraction.  In  Nature  may  be 
seen  the  influence  of  Plato,  the  Neo-Platonists,  the  Ger 
man  mystics  and  English  idealists.  Under_their  lead 
he  elaborates  his  doctrine  of  the  one  mind  common  to 
all  men,  which  reveals  through  us  its  living  word.  This 
idea  expands  into  his  conception  of  self-reliance,  intui 
tion,  compensation,  and  the  influence  of  the  great  man. 
He  was  more  than  ever  repelled  from  the"  materialistic 
philosophy,  and  from  all  those  religious  ideas  which 
seemed  in  any  way  to  be  attached  to  it.  His  own 
account  of^  the  rise  of  Transcendentalism  in  New 
England  will  give  the  best  idea  of  it  which  can  be 
presented. 

There  are  always  two  parties,  —  the  party  of  the  past  and  that 
of  the  future,  or  that  of  the  establishment  and  that  of  movement. 
It  is  not  easy  to  date  the  eras  of  activity  which,  from  time  to  time, 


54  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

are  manifest,  with  any  thing  like  precision  ;  but  the  period  begin 
ning  about  the  year  1820,  and  ending  twenty  years  later,  is  to  be 
regarded  as  such  an  one.  It  may  be  characterized  as  a  war  be 
tween  institutions  and  nature,  and  which  caused  a  split  in  every 
church,  as  of  Calvinists  and  Quakers,  into  old  and  new  schools ; 
and  there  were  new  divisions  upon  questions  of  politics,  temper 
ance,  and  slavery.  The  general  mind  had  become  aware  of  itself. 
Men  grew  conscious  and  intellectual.  The  swart  earth-spirit  which 
had  made  the  strength  of  past  ages  was  all  gone,  and  another  hour 
had  struck.  In  literature  there  appeared  a  decided  tendency  to 
criticism,  and  young  men  seemed  to  have  been  born  with  knives  in 
their  brains.  The  popular  religion  of  our  fathers  received  many 
shocks  during  this  time ;  but  much  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  slow 
but  extraordinary  influence  of  Swedenborg,  —  a  man  of  prodigious 
mind,  tainted,  as  I  think,  with  a  certain  suspicion  of  insanity,  but 
exerting  a  powerful  effect  upon  an  influential  class. 

Among  the  more  immediate  causes  of  this  intellectual  and 
reformatory  activity  was  the  impression  made  by  Edwrard  Everett, 
who  returned  from  Europe  about  the  year  1820,  after  a  live  years' 
residence,  and  who  presented  with  natural  grace  and  splendid 
rhetoric  some  of  the  phases  of  contemporary  German  thought. 
Frothingham  and  Xorton  also  contributed  in  making  familiar  the 
latest  results  of  German  thinking,  and  gave  a  new  impetus  to  the 
study  of  theology.  But  more  potent  than  any  of  these  influences, 
as  a  permanent  source  of  the  religious  revolution  of  the  period,  was 
modern  science,  especially  the  science  of  astronomy.  It  came  to 
be  apprehended,  that,  as  the  earth  is  not  the  center  of  the  universe, 
so  it  is  not  the  special  scene  or  stage  on  which  the  drama  of  divine 
justice  is  played  before  the  assembled  angels  of  heaven ;  the  planet 
being  but  a  speck  in  the  created  universe  too  minute  to  be  seen  at 
tin-  distance  of  many  of  the  fixed  stars  which  are  plainly  visible  to 
us.  These  new  perceptions  required  of  men  .an  extension  and 
uplifting  of  their  views  as  to  the  dealings  of  the  Creator,  and  they 
received  a  confirmation  in  the  then  new  science  of  geology.  The 
writings  of  Dr.  Channii%  especially  his  papers  on  Milton  and  Xa- 
poleon,  had  an  immense  influence  on  current  literature,  setting  the 
c\;iiii})le  and  laying  the  foundation  for  a  broader  and  deeper  school 
of  criticism  than  had  appeared  before  among  us. 

Among  other  influences  was  the  work  of  the  great  innovators, 
Lavater,  Gall,  Spurzheim,  who  dragged  down  every  secret  and 
mysterious  thing  of  our  nature  to  the  level  of  a  street-show. 
Goethe  also  had  a  great  influence,  revolutionizing  philosophy  and 
science.  And  the  peculiarity  of  all  this  period  was  its  return  to 
law,  —  to  what  was  normal,  natural,  and  human.  And  this  could 
be  seen  in  the  character  of  the  works  and  authors  which  then 
became  popular,  such  as  Combe's  Constitution  of  Alan,  Mrs.  Somer- 
ville's  scientific  works,  and  many  other  writings  on  science  and 
philosophy;  and  in  Dickens,  so  human  and  genial,  in  the  world 
of  fiction. 


THE   ERA   OF   TRANSCENDENTALISM.  55 

The  tendencies  of  thought  thus  created  took  a  de 
cided  form,  and  came  to  full  expression  in  the  year 
1836.  Beside  Emerson's  Nature,  there  appeared  a  lit 
tle  book  on  The  Gospels,  by  W.  H.  Furness,  Alcott's 
first  volume  of  Conversations  on  the  Gospels,  Brown- 
son's  New  Views  of  Christianity,  Society,  and  the  Church, 
and  Sampson  Reed's  Growth  of  the  Mind.  These 
books  were  all  based  on  the  new  spiritual  philos- 
/  ophy,  and  were  full  of  criticism  of  the  old  religious 
/  thought  and  life.  So  strong  had  the  new  tendency 
LJbecome,  that  its  friends  began  to  gather  together  and 
to  seek  for  some  ampler  methods  of  expression,  which 
would  bring  them  into  closer  sympathy  with  each  other. 
Channing  was  the  real  leader  of  this  movement,  as  he 
had  been  twenty  years  earlier  of  the  Unitarian  advance. 
He  took  counsel  with  George  Ripley,  then  one  of  the 
most  prominent  of  the  Unitarian  clergymen  in  Boston, 
towards  the  organization  of  a  society  for  mutual 
inquiry. 

He  invited  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  says  Emerson,  and 
I  had  the  honor  to  be  present.  No  important  consequences  of  the 
attempt  followed.  Margaret  Fuller,  Ripley,  Brownson,  and  Hedge, 
and  many  others,  gradually  came  together,  but  only  in  the  way  of 
students.  But  I  think  there  prevailed  at  that  time  a  belief  that 
this  was  some  concert  of  doctrinaires  to  establish  certain  opinions, 
or  to  inaugurate  some  movement  in  literature,  philosophy,  or 
religion,  but  of  which  these  conspirators  were  quite  innocent.  It 
was  no  concert,  but  only  two  or  three  men  and  women,  who  read 
alone  with  some  vivacity.  Perhaps  all  of  these  were  surprised  at 
the  rumor  that  they  were  a  school  or  sect,  but  more  especially  at  the 
name  of  "Transcendentalism."  Nobody  knows  who  first  applied 
the  name.  These  persons  became,  in  the  common  chance  of  society, 
acquainted  with  each  other ;  and  the  result  was  a  strong  friend 
ship,  exclusive  in  proportion  to  its  heat.  Meetings  were  held  for 
conversation,  with  very  little  form,  from  house  to  house.  Yet  the 
intelligent  character  and  varied  ability  of  the  company  gave  it 
some  notoriety,  and  perhaps  awakened  some  curiosity  as  to  its  aims 
and  results.  But  nothing  more  serious  came  of  it  for  a  long  time. 

This  gathering  was  at  first  known  as  "  The  Sympo 
sium,"  and  afterwards  as  "  The  Transcendental  Club." 
It  was  not  so  much  a  club  as  a  gathering  of  a  handful 
of  friends  who  entertained  the  same  ideas,  and  had  com- 


56    *  RALPH   WAXDO   EMERSON. 

mon  hopes  of  a  new  era  of  truth  and  religion.  Those 
ideas  were  such  as  to  make  them  talkers,  and  could  be 
better  expressed  in  conversation  among  friends  than  in 
any  other  manner.  One  of  the  company,  Bronson 
Alcott,  in  one  of  his  "Conversations,"'  has  given  a 
very  good  account  of  these  meetings ;  and,  as  it  is 
almost  wholly  made  up  from  the  pages  of  his  journal, 
is  accurate  as  to  dates  and  persons :  — 

"  The  first  meeting  of  the  Transcendental  Club  was  in  Boston, 
at  the  house  of  Mr.  George  Ripley,  on  the  l!)th  of  September,  183G. 
The  persons  present  were  George  Ripley,  R.  W.  Emerson,  F.  H. 
Hedge,  Convers  Francis,  J.  F.  Clarke,  and  the  present  writer.  It 
was  a  preliminary  meeting,  to  see  how  far  it  would  be  possible  for 
earnest  minds  to  meet,  and  with  the  least  possible  formality  com 
municate  their  views.  They  dispensed  with  any  election  of  a  chair 
man  ;  if  there  was  to  be  any  precedency,  it  naturally  belonged  to 
the  oldest.  At  that  time  the  oldest  of  that  company  was  Mr. 
Francis.  They  gave  invitations  to  Dr.  Channing,  to  Jonathan 
Phillips,  to  Rev.  James  Walker,  Rev.  N.  L.  Frothingham,  Rev.  J. 
S.  Dwight,  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing,  and  Rev.  C.  A.  Bartol,  to  join 
them,  if  they  chose  to  do  so.  The  three  last  named  appeared  after 
wards,  and  met  the  club  frequently.  They  adjourned  to  meet  at 
Mr.  Alcott's  house  in  Beach  Street,  on  the  afternoon  of  Oct.  3, 1836, 
at  three  o'clock. 

"  On  that  occasion  the  subject  of  discussion  was  this :  American 
.Genius,  —  the  causes  which  hinder  its  growth  giving  us  no  first-rate 

S -eductions.  There  were  present  at  that  second  meeting,  Emerson, 
edge,  Francis,  Ripley,  O.  A.  Brownson,  Clarke,  Bartol,  and  the 
host.  Subsequent  meetings  took  place  in  Boston  the  following 
whiter  and  spring,  and  at  Concord  and  Watertown,  then  the  home 
of  Mr.  Francis,  during  the  summer  of  1837.  So  far  as  there  was 
any  show  of  order  in  these  meetings,  it  was  something  like  this : 
The  senior  member,  Mr.  Francis,  —  the  company  being  seated,  — 
would  invite  the  members,  as  they  sat,  to  make  remarks,  which  they 
did.  I  believe  there  was  seldom  an  inclination  on  the  part  of  any 
to  be  silent.  Always,  or  nearly  always,  every  person  present  con 
tributed  something  to  the  conversation.  At  that  time  theology 
was  the  theme  of  general  discussion.  Dr.  Beecher  had  come  to 
Boston  a  few  years  before,  to  put  down  Unitarianism,  as  he  fondly 
fancied,  by  preaching  his  Puritan  views,  —  the  views  of  Calvin. 
These,  however,  had  passed  away,  in  good  measure ;  and  the  views 
of  Professor  Norton  of  the  Divinity  School  were  then  in  the 
•it.  Dr.  Channing  had  published  his  essays  in  The  Ex- 
nnn''i<r:  he  was  also  preaching  when  he  was  able'  There  were 
a  1  !=•  1  to  the  club,  or  symposium,  in  1837,  Rev.  Caleb  Stetson, 
Theodore  Parker,  Margaret  Fuller,  ami  Miss  Elizabeth  Peabody. 


THE   ERA  OF   TRANSCENDENTALISM.  57 

Rev.  Thomas  T.  Stone  afterwards  joined  it.     Mr.  Brownson  com 
menced  his  Quarterly  Review  in  1837. 

"  At  the  meetings  of  the  club,  Mr.  Emerson  was  almost  always 
present.  On  not  more  than  two  or  three  occasions  during  the  three 
or  four  years  that  the  club  met  —  four  or  five  times  a  year,  probably 

—  was  lie  absent.     Indeed,  the  members  looked  forward  with  great 
delight  to  the  opportunity  of  meeting  him.     They  were  presently 
scattered  abroad.     Mr.   Hedge  had  gone  as  far  as  Bangor,  and 
others  had  gone  to  some  distance ;  but  it  was  arranged  that  during 
the  season  of  recreation,  when  these  persons  came  to  the  city,  the 
meetings  should  be  held  quite  often.    They  were  held  at  Watertown, 
at  Newton,  Concord,  Milton,  Chelsea  (where  Mr.  Brownson  was 
then  living),  frequently  in  Boston,  and  perhaps  elsewhere.     I  re 
member  the  doctrine  of  Personality  early  came  up  for  discussion. 
It  was  the  fashion  to  speak  against  personality,  —  the  orthodox 
view  of  it ;    and  the  favorite    phrase  was   '  impersonality.'      In 
attempting  to  liberate  the  true  view  from  the  superstitions  which 
had  gathered  about  it  in  coming  down  through  Calvinism,  through 
Puritanism,  some  made  the  mistake  of  conceiving  individuality  to 
be  the  central  thought ;  and  at  these  meetings  that  subject  was  dis 
cussed.     Impersonality,  Law,  Right,  Justice,  Truth,  —  these  were 
the  central  ideas ;  but"  where  the  Power  was  in  which  they  inhered, 
how  they  were  related  to  one  another,  what  was  to  give  them  vitality, 

—  these  questions  were  almost  neglected,  and  left  out  of  sight.     I 
think  that  was  the  deficiency  of  the  Transcendental  school ;  is  its 
deficiency  still ;  is  the  reason  why  it  has  not  incorporated  itself  into 
a  church,  and  been  found  equal  to  compete  with  .orthodoxy.     The 
old  Puritanism,  whatsoever  may  have  been  its  blunders,  —  whatso 
ever  superstitions  may  have  been  mingled  with  its  doctrines,  —  did 
believe  in  a  Person,  and  did  not  allow  itself  to  discriminate  person 
ality  away  into  laws  and  ideas. 

"  To  show  how  the  topics  about  which  I  have  been  speaking 
interested  the  club,  in  May,  1838,  the  same  company  again  met  — 
Rev.  N.  L.  Frothingham  being  present,  for  the  first  time,  and  the 
only  time  that  I  ever  saw  him  —  at  Medf ord ;  and  we  discussed  this 
question,  « Is  Mysticism  an  Element  of  Christianity?'  That  ques 
tion  touched  the  seat  and  root  of  things.  Jones  Very's  Poems  and 
Essays  were  published  in  September,  1839 :  very  significant  they 
were,  too ;  as  if,  in  answer  to  the  inquiry  whether  Mysticism  was 
an  element  of  Christianity,  here  was  an  illustration  of  it  in  a  living 
person,  himself  present  at  the  club.  They  are  very  remarkable 
poems  and  essays.  There  had  been  nothing  printed  until  Nature, 
unless  it  may  have  been  Mr.  Sampson  Reed's  little  book  called 
The  Growth  of  the  Mind,  which  had  intimated  genius  of  the  like 
subtle,  chaste,  and  simple  quality." 

In  1838,  at  a  meeting  held  at  Bartol's  house,  in 
Chestnut  Street,  Pantheism  was  the  topic ;  and  there 
were  present  Emerson,  Alcott,  Follan,  Francis,  Parker, 


58  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

Stetson,  William  Russell,  Clarke,  and  D wight.  At  the 
house  of  Dr.  Francis,  September,  1839,  there  were  also 
present  Margaret  Fuller,  W.  H.  Channing,  Robert 
Bartlett,  and  Samuel  J.  May.  In  December,  at  Ripley's, 
there  came  Dr.  Channing,  George  Bancroft,  the  sculptor 
Clevenger,  Cranch,  and  Samuel  G.  Ward,  beside  the 
regular  attendants. 

Alcott  opened  his  "  Temple  School  "  in  Boston  in 
1834,  and  applied  the  new  philosophy  in  the  educa 
tion  of  young  children.  Among  his  assistants  were 
Elizabeth  and  Sophia  Peabody  and  Margaret  Fuller. 
Elizabeth  Peabody  prepared  for  publication  a  volume  of 
his  conversations  on  the  Gospels  with  the  children  of  his 
school.  This  volume  was  severely  criticised,  and  the 
school  was  condemned  as  an  outrageous  innovation  on 
the  usual  methods.  While  Alcott  was  being  severely 
attacked  in  the  newspapers,  Emerson  wrote  a  defense  of 
the  book,  which  was  declined  by  one  of  the  leading 
daily  journals,  but  was  published  in  The  Courier. 

"Mr.  Alcott,  he  said,  has  given  proof  in  the  beautiful  intro 
duction  to  this  work,  as  all  who  have  read  it  know,  of  a  strong 
mind  and  a  pure  heart.  A  practical  teacher,  he  lias  dedicated,  for 
years,  his  rare  gifts  to  the  science  of  education.  These  conversa 
tions  contain  abundant  evidence  of  extraordinary  power  of  thought, 
either  in  the  teacher  or  in  the  pupils,  or  in  both.  He  aims  to  make 
children  think,  and,  in  every  question  of  a  moral  nature,  to  send 
them  back  on  themselves  for  an  answer.  He  aims  to  show  chil 
dren  something  holy  in  their  own  consciousness  ;  thereby  to  make 
them  really  reverent,  and  to  make  the  New  Testament  a  living 
book  to  them. 

"  Mr.  Alcott's  methods  can  not  be  said  to  have  had  a  fair  trial ; 
but  he  is  making  an  experiment  in  which  all  the  friends  of  educa 
tion  are  interested.  And  I  ask  whether  it  be  wise  or  just  to  add  to 
the  anxieties  of  this  enterprise  a  public  clamor  Against  some  de 
tached  sentences  of  a  book,  which,  as  a  whole,  is  pervaded  with 
original  thought  and  sincere  piety." 

Soon  after  the  publication  of  this  letter,  Emerson 
wrote,  March  24,  1837,  a  most  cordial  and  sympathetic 
letter  to  Alcott  in  regard  to  the  school,  and  urged  him 
to  come  away  from  it,  as  the  people  of  Boston  were  un 
worthy  of  his  genius. 

The  effect  oi:  this  agitation  on  Emerson  is  indicated 


THE   ERA    OF   TRANSCENDENTALISM.  59 

in  his  relations  to  the  church  in  East  Lexington.  This 
church  was  very  anxious  to  settle  him  as  their  pastor, 
but  he  did  not  wish  to  enter  again  fully  upon  the  duties 
of  a  clergyman ;  so  he  urged  upon  the  people  there  the 
calling  to  their  pulpit  one  of  his  friends.  When  a  lady 
of  the  society  was  asked  why  they  did  not  settle  this 
person,  the  reply  was,  "  We  are  a  very  simple  people,  and 
can  understand  no  one  but  Mr.  Emerson."  When  a 
friend  advised  him  to  accept  the  East-Lexington  pulpit, 
he  modestly  declared  his  inability  to  interest  all  the 
people ;  and  when  further  urged  to  throw  himself  into 
the  work,  he  quietly  replied,  "  My  pulpit  is  the  lyceum 
platform."  He  continued  to  preach  there  until  the 
autumn  of  1838,  driving  to  and  from  the  village  on 
Sunday,  and  preaching  two  sermons.  He  continued, 
indeed,  until  he  began  to  be  troubled  with  doubts  as  to 
public  prayer  and  the  rightfulness  of  offering  prayers 
for  others,  and  then  he  ceased.  His  ideas  gradually 
changed  until  he  doubted  the  rightfulness  of  any  reli 
gious  forms.  He  found  true  religion  alone  in  the  com 
munions  of  the  individual  soul. 

Aug.  81,  1837,  he  gave  the  address  before  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  Society  at  Harvard.1  It  attracted  much 
attention,  and  was  one  more  distinct  statement  of  the 
purposes  and  hopes  of  the  new  movement.  The  subject 
was  The  4^neirican  Scholar;  and  its  idea  was  " that 
therejg  One^Man, — rjresent  in  all  parjjjnlnr  men  only 
partially,  or  through  one^fax3ult^;~.aiid~tkat  you  must 
take  thejoyhole  society  tn  find  the  whole  man."  At 
present  man's  functions  a.rft  r^yided  and  separated  ;  to 
each  function  is  a  special  class.  The  scholar  is  "the 
delegated  intellect,"  for  "  the  true  scholar  is  the  only 
true  master."  Then  the  sources  from  whence  the 
scholar  receives  his  main  influences  were  considered. 
These  are  nature,  the  past,  and  earnest  activity.  Nearly 
all  his  leading  ideas  found  expression  in  this  address. 
He  dwelt  upon  the  law  of  the  mind  and  upon  its  iden 
tity  witji  nature.  The  Man  Thinking,  of  whom  he 

i  Miscellanies,  p.  77. 


60  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSOX. 

spoke,  is  the  man  of  intuition  :  and  he  insists  upon  a 
rejection  15T HSoois  fur  an  immediate  inquiry  into  the 
truth.     The  mind  is  more  than  the  instruments  it  has 
!   created,  more  than  its  own  products.     Tho^rgsiilts  of 
1    this  truer  method  of  inquiry  Jn&tJtlie  truth   embody 
tli-  -  in  action.     The  end  of  all  truth  is  character 

and  a  more  perfect  moral  nature.  %*  A  great  soul  will 
be  strong  to  live  as  well  as  strong  to  think."  As  the 
source  of  truth  is  not  books,  but  mental  activity,  we  are 
to  pulHvatp  gp.li-triKt.  Help  can  come  :ly  from 

our  own  bosom* ;  and  in  OJ"'^]YP<  WP  find  the  law  of 
alljiature._so  that  the  world  is  nothing.  We  are  to  be 
unitsTwalE  on  our  own  ieetpthink  our  own  thoughts, 
and  speak  our  own  minds.  Growing  out  of  this  atti 
tude  is  faith  in  the  common,  so  that  all  things  become 
revelations  of  truth.  Man  is  related  to  all  nature,  finds 
in  each  and  all  things  the  same  laws,  wliile  even  the 
smallest  embodies  all  truth. 

Alcott  has  said  of  this  address  a  sincere  word  of 
praise,  which  it  fully  deserves.  ••  I  believe,"  he  said, 
-  that  was  the  first  adequate  statement  of  the  new 
views  that  really  attracted  general  attention.  I  had 
the  good  fortune*  to  hear  that  address ;  and  I  shall  not 
forget  the  delight  with  which  I  heard  it,  nor  the  mixed 
confusion,  consternation,  surprise,  and  wonder  with 
which  the  audience  listened  to  it."1  Lowell  saysj.he 
delivery  of  this  lecture  -was  an  event  without  any 
former  parallel  in  our  literary  annals,  a  scene  to  be 
always  treasured  in  the  memory  for  its  picturesqueness 
and  its  inspiration.  What  crowded  and  breathless 
ai?les,  what  windows  clustering  with  eager  heads,  what 
enthusiasm  of  approval,  what  grim  silence  of  foregone 
dissent !  "  2 

In  December  he  began  a  course  of  lectures  on  Human 
Life.  There  was  an  introductory  and  a  concluding  lec 
ture  ;  while  the  main  topics  were  the  hand,  the  head, 
the  eye  and  ear.  the  heart,  simplicity,  prudence,  heroism, 
and  holiness'.  In  March  he  delivered  a  remarkable  lec- 

1  In  his  Conversations  on  the  Transcendental  Movement. 

2  My  Study  Windows;  essay  on  Tboreau. 


THE   ERA  OF   TRANSCENDENTALISM.  61 

ture  in  Boston  on  War. l  He  said  that  war  could 
not  be  avoided  in  savage  times,  for  religion  leads  to  it. 
It  does  actually  forward  the  culture  of  man,  but  is  a 
temporary  and  preparatory  state.  It  "educates  the 
senses,  calls  into  action  the  will,  perfects  the  physical 
constitution,  brings  men  into  such  swift  and  close  colli 
sion  in  critical  moments  that  man  measures  man."  It  is 
the  subject  of  all  history,  has  been  the  principal  employ 
ment  of  the  most  conspicuous  men,  the  delight  of  half 
the  world.  So  wide  is  its  range,  it  is  manifest  it  leads 
to  the  great  and  beneficent  principle  of  self-help.  "  Na 
ture  implants  with  life  the  instinct  of  self-help,  perpet 
ual  struggle  to  be,  to  resist  opposition,  to  attain  to 
freedom,  to  attain  to  mastery,  and  the  security  of  a 
permanent,  self-dependent  being ;  and  to  each  creature 
these  objects  are  made  so  dear  that  it  risks  it?  life  con 
tinually  in  the  struggle  for  these  ends."  Yet  war  goes 
with  coarse  forms  of  life,  and  is  a  juvenile  and  tempo 
rary  state.  "  Not  only  the  moral  sentiment,  but  trade, 
learning,  and  whatever  makes  intercourse,  conspire  to 
put  it  down."  Trade  is  one  of  its  chief  antagonists. 
Nearly  all  its  good  has  now  been  exhausted,  and  it 
must  soon  have  an  end. 

"  The  eternal  germination  of  the  better  has  unfolded  new  pow 
ers,  new  instincts,  which  were  really  concealed  under  this  rough 
and  base  rind.  The  sublime  question  has  startled  one  and  another 
happy  soul  in  different  quarters  of  the  globe,  Can  not  love  be,  as 
well  as  hate  1  wrould  not  love  answer  the  same  end,  or  even  a  bet 
ter?  Can  not  peace  be  as  well  as  war?  " 

This  thought  is  no  man's  invention ;  but  it  will  only 
grow  slowly,  and  will  surely  win.  If  man  changes,  his 
circumstances  will  change  ;  and  more  of  kindness  in  him 
will  put  'away  the  implements  of  war. 

"  AVar  and  peace  thus  resolve  themselves  into  a  mercury  of  the 
state  of  cultivation.  At  a  certain  stage  of  his  progress  the  man 
fights,  if  he  be  of  a  sound  body  and  mind.  At  a  certain  high  stage 
he  makes  no  offensive  demonstration,  but  is  alert  to  repel  injury, 
and  of  an  unconquerable  heart.  At  a  still  higher  stage  he  comes 

1  Printed  in  1849,  iu  Miss  Peabody's  ^Esthetic  Papers, 


62  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

into  the  region  of  holiness  ;  passion  has  passed  away  from  him ;  his 
warlike  nature  is  all  converted  into  an  active  medicinal  principle  ; 
he  sacrifices  himself,  and  accepts  with  alacrity  wearisome  tasks  of 
denial  and  charity ;  but,  being  attacked,  he  bears  it,  and  turns  the 
other  cheek,  as  one  engaged,  throughout  his  being,  no  longer  to 
the  service  of  an  individual,  but  to  the  common  good  of  all  men." 

The  peace  policy  is  to  gain  by  private  conviction,  by 
earnest  love,  and  by  increased  insight. 

"  The  cause  of  peace  is  not  the  cause  of  cowardice.  If  peace  is 
sought  to  be  defended  or  preserved  for  the  safety  of  the  luxurious 
and  the  timid,  it  is  a  sham,  and  the  peace  will  be  bad.  War  is 
better,  and  the  peace  will  be  broken.  If  peace  is  to  be  maintained, 
it  must  be  by  brave  men  who  have  come  up  to  the  same  height  as 
the  hero  ;  namely,  the  will  to  carry  their  hand,  and  stake  it  at  any 
instant  for  their  principle,  but  who  have  gone  one  step  beyond  the 
hero,  and  will  not  seek  another  man's  life  :  men  who  have  by  their 
intellectual  insight,  or  else  by  their  moral  elevation,  attained  such 
a  perception  of  their  own  intrinsic  worth  that  they  do  not  think 
property  or  their  own  body  a  sufficient  good  to  be  saved  by  such 
dereliction  of  principle  as  treating  a  man  like  a  sheep." 

"  If  the  universal  cry  for  reform  of  so  many  inveterate  abuses  with 
which  society  rings ;  if  the  desire  of  a  larger  class  of  young  men 
for  a  faith  and  hope,  intellectual  and  religious,  such  as  they  have 
not  yet  found,  be  an  omen  to  be  trusted ;  if  the  disposition  to  rely 
-more,  in  study  and  in  action,  on  the  unexplored  riches  of  the 
human  constitution ;  if  the  search  of  the  sublime  laws  of  morals 
and  the  sources  of  hope  and  trust  in  man,  and  not  in  books,  in 
the  present  and  not  in  the  past,  proceed  ;  if  the  rising  generation 
can  be  provoked  to  think  it  unworthy  to  nestle  into  every  abomi 
nation  of  the  past,  and  shall  feel  the  generous  doings  of  austerity 
and  virtue,  —  then  war  has  a  short  day,  and  human  blood  will  cease 
to  flow." 

"It  is  of  little  consequence  in  what  manner,  through  what 
organs,  this  purpose  of  mercy  and  holiness  is  affected.  The  propo 
sition  of  the  Congress  of  Nations  is  undoubtedly  that  at  which  the 
present  fabric  of  our  society  and  the  present  course  of  events  do 
point.  But  the  mind,  once  prepared  for  the  reign  of  principles, 
will  easily  find  modes  of  expressing  its  will.  There  is  the  highest 
fitness  in  the  place  and  time  in  which  this  enterprise  is  begun. 
Not  in  an  obscure  corner,  not  in  a  feudal  Europe,  not  in  an  anti 
quated  appanage  where  no  onward  step  can  be  taken  without 
rebellion,  is  this  seed  of  benevolence  laid  in  the  furrow  with  tears 
of  hope ;  but  in  this  broad  America  of  God  and  man,  where  the 
forest  is  only  now  falling  or  yet  to  fall,  and  the  green  earth  opened 
to  the  inundation  of  emigrant  men  from  all  quarters  of  oppression 
and  guilt,  —  here,  where  not  a  family,  not  a  few  men,  but  mankind, 


THE  ERA  ©F   TRANSCENDENTALISM.  63 

shall  say  what  shall  be ;  here,  we  ask,  Shall  it  be  war,  or  shall  it 
be  peace  ?  " 

This  lecture  is  characterized  by  a  singular  clearness 
of  historic  insight  and  by  a  genuine  spirit  of  humanity. 
Emerson  does  rare  justice  to  the  importance  of  war  as 
an  element  of  progress,  and  he  clearly  appreciates  the 
causes  which  are  working  its  abandonment.  More  than 
all,  his  sense  of  brotherhood  comes  ouk_and  his  faith  in 
the  capacitieToTeve^ry  soul.  "  His  faith  in  man  and  his 
lofty  sense  of  justice  were  displayed  in  a  protest  against 
the  treatment  received  by  the  Cherokee  Indians  during 
the  year  1838.  These  Indians  were  compelled  to  move 
to  the  Indian  Territory,  a  treaty  having  been  made  to  that 
effect  between  the  United  States  Government  and  a  num 
ber  of  the  Indians.  The  Cherokee  nation  did  not  con 
sent  to  this  treaty,  and  claimed  it  was  not  made  by  their 
authority.  Nevertheless  their  removal  was  ordered. 
Great  indignation  was  expressed  in  the  Northern  States 
at  this  act  of  injustice.  A  meeting  was  held  in  Con 
cord,  April  22,  to  take  action  against  the  outrage. 
Emerson  stated  the  case  to  the  audience,  and  addresses 
were  made  by  the  leading  citizens.  A  memorial  was 
largely  signed,  and  sent  to  Congress.  The  next  day 
Emerson  addressed  a  letter  to  President  Van  Buren  in 
behalf  of  himself  and  some  of  his  friends.1  After  a 
statement  of  the  facts,  as  they  had  been  eagerly  dis 
cussed  in  the  newspapers,  he  asks  if  they  can  be  true, 
if  the  public  has  not  been  misinformed  in  regard  to 
them.  Then  he  proceeds  to  protest  against  the  exe 
cution  of  the  outrage  as  it  had  been  planned  and 
ordered. 

"  The  piety,  the  principle  that  is  left  in  these  United  States,  — 
if  only  its  coarsest  form,  a  regard  to  the  speech  of  men,  forbid  us  to 
entertain  it  as  a  fact.  Such  a  dereliction  of  all  faith  and  virtue, 
such  a  denial  of  justice,  and  such  a  deafness  to  screams  for  mercy, 
were  never  heard  of  in  times  of  peace,  and  in  the  dealing  of  a 
nation  with  its  own  allies  and  wards,  since  the  earth  was  made. 
Sir,  does  this  government  think  the  people  of  the  United  States  are 

i  Printed  in  the  Yeoman's  Gazette  of  Concord,  May  19,  1838,  and 
copied  into  many  crlher  papers. 


64  EALPH   WALDO   EMEKSOX. 


become  savage  and  mad?  From  their  mind  are  the  sentiments  of 
love  and  of  a  good  nature  wiped  clear  out  ?  The  soul  of  man,  the 
justice,  the  mercy  that  is  the  heart's  heart  in  all  men  from  Maine 
to  Georgia,  does  abhor  this  business. 

"  In  speaking  thus  the  sentiments  of  my  neighbors  and  my  own, 
perhaps  I  overstep  the  bounds  of  decorum.  But  would  it  not  be  a 
higher  indecorum  coldly  to  argue  a  matter  like  this  ?  We  only  state 
the  fact,  that  a  crime  is  projected  that  confounds  our  understand 
ings  by  its  magnitude,  a  crime  that  really  deprives  us,  as  well  as 
the  Cherokees,  of  a  country ;  for  how  could  we  call  the  conspiracy 
that  should  crush  these  poor  Indians,  our  government,  or  the  land 
that  was  cursed  by  their  parting  and  dying  imprecations,  our  coun 
try,  any  more  ?  You,  sir,  will  bring  down  that  renowned  chair  in 
which  you  sit  into  infamy  if  your  seal  is  set  to  this  instrument 
of  perfidy ;  and  the  name  of  this  nation,  hitherto  the  sweet  omen  of 
religion  and  liberty,  will  stink  to  the  world." 

When  a  friend  afterwards  urged  him  to  print  this 
letter  among  his  miscellanies,  he  said  it  was  only  a 
"shriek"  of  indignation.  It  ought  now  to  be  re 
membered,  however,  when  so  much  is  trying  to  be 
done  to  secure  Justice  to  the  Indians,  who  have  had 
so  little  of  it  in  any  of  the  years  since  this  letter  was 
written. 

In  July  he  lectured  before  the  literary  societies  of 
Dartmouth  College  on  Literary  Ethics,1  and  asserted 
that  self-trust  is  the  whole  value  to  us  of  biography  and 
history.  He  said  we  must  ask  the  truth  of  the  "en 
veloping  Now,"  thqj^  we  must  cherish  solitude  and 
meditation,  and  that  we  "should.  .opaiTThe  breast  to  all 
honest  inquiry.  He  said  the  scholar  is  of  importance 
in  the  world  in  proportion  to  his  confidence  in  the 
attributes  of  the  intellect.  This  is  true  because  man  is 
the  measure  of  the  world,  because  his  soul  can  interpret 
all  things,  and  because  every  human  sentiment  finds 
somewhere  in  nature  its  expression.  All  history,  bi 
ography,  and  nature  are  of  value  only  as  they  show 
forth  to  the  soul  what  it  can  be  and  do.  He  then 
declares  that  all  things  are  new,  that  every  lesson  is  to  be 
new-learned,  (hut.  all  truth  yot  awaits  adequate  utter 
ance.  The  scholar  must  not  wait  on  the  past,  but  look 
into  the  world  of  the  immediate  present,  and  see  what  it 

1  Miscellanies,  p.  149. 


THE   ERA   OF   TRANSCENDENTALISM.  65 

declares.  He  will  not  live  a  life  of  utility,  but  give 
himself  to  know  truth  and  beauty,  wed  these,  and  gladly 
accept  the  sensual  deprivations  they  impose.  Solitude 
he  must  accept,  also,  and  every  deep  and  true  human 
experience,  if  he  would  learn  the  best  wisdom.  The 
strain  of  upper  music  is  heard  only  in  action,  in  bearing 
the  common  burdens  of  life ;  so  that  "  out  of  love  and 
hatred,  out  of  earnings  and  borrowings  and  lendings 
and  losses,  out  of  sickness  and  pain,  out  of  wooing  and 
worshiping,  out  of  traveling  and  voting  and  watch 
ing  and  caring,  out  of  disgrace  and  contempt,  comes 
our  tuition  in  the  serene  and  beautiful  laws."  He 
rejects  the  dry  and  scholastic  aim  for  the  student,  urges 
him  to  be  a  toiler  and  a  learner  amidst  all  that  passes 
daily  in  the  world,  yet  living  above  every  lust  of  praise 
and  frivolity,  devoted  to  the  things  of  the  soul.  In  this 
address  he  set  forth  his  own  ideal,  the  purpose  which 
has  animated  his  own  life,  and  which  has  made  it  so 
worthy  of  attention.  Its  closing  paragraphs  are  a 
notable  instance  of  pure  and  inspiring  eloquence.  It 
was  listened  to  with  profound  attention,  and  was 
"greatly  admired,"  said  a  local  journal,  " as  the  pro 
duction  of  a  rare  and  highly  gifted  mind.  Seldom,  if 
ever  before,  has  the  occasion  been  distinguished  for  so 
rich  an  intellectual  treat." 

His  course  of  lectures  in  Boston  the  following  winter 
was  on  the  Resources  of  the  Present  Age.  There  were 
two  on  literature  ;  while  some  of  the  other  subjects  were 
Private  Life,  Reformers,  Religion,  Ethics,  Education. 
The  winter  of  1839-40  brought  a  course  on  Human 
Life.  He  spoke  of  the  Laws  of  Love,  Home,  The 
School,  Genius,  The  Protest,  Tragedy,  Comedy,  Duty, 
Demonology. 


RALPH    WA^DO   EMERSON. 


VI 

STATING    THE    NEW    FAITH. 

T'HE  new  views  had  the  effect  to  make  men  distrust 
ful  of  the  old  religious  forms  and  doctrines. 
iiie  more  important  than  bibles  or  great 
teachers. When  God  speaks  directly  to  each  soul,  why 
look  backward  to.  tliu  p-aat-iiiixiLiliaiis?  The  so  ideas 
made  Furness  regard  the  life  of  Je.uis  as  perfectly 
natural,  all  his  acts  the  expressions  of  a  truly  loyal  nature. 
To  Alcott  they  gave  the  conviction  that  the  uncorrupt 
mind  of  the  child  has  all  truth  in  it,  ready  to  be  de 
veloped.  Brownson  was  led  to  see  in  Christianity  the 
natural  religion  of  the  soul.  Like  tendencies  of  thought 
induced  Emerson  to  severely  criticise  all  institutional 
religion,  and  to  abandon  every  religious  rite.  He  came 
to  regard  religion  as  a  universal  sentiment,  which  re 
veals  ajl  truth  to  each  individual  soul.  This  sentiment 
is  awakened  by  perceiving  the  universal  order  of  nature 
and  by  experience  of  its  invariable  laws.  It  leads  to 
a  sublime  self-trust,  and  to  a  repudiation  of  all  com 
mands  laid  011  us  from  the  teachings  of  other  men,  unless 
their  thought  is  verified  in  our  own  natures.  Thisjsenti- 
ment  is  an  intuition,  and  not  to  be  received  at  second 
hand. 

When  an  opportunity  offered  he  gave  full  expres 
sion  to  his  views.  In  June,  1838,  he  was  invited  to 
deliver  the  'customary  address  before  the  graduating 
class  in  the  Divinity  School  of  Harvard  University.  It 
was  given  on  Sunday  evening,  July  15.  Emerson  made 
the  prayer  of  the  occasion ;  and  Bartol  speaks  of  it  as 
"  the  short  breathings  of  the  gentle  prayer,  which  had 
in  it  no  pronouns."1  The  address  stated  the  new 

1  Radical  Problems. 


STATING   THE   NEW   FAITH.  67 

thought  in  the  most  explicit  words,  showing  clearly 
its  relations  to  the  doctrines  of  theology.  It  came 
nearer  to  the  "center  and  core  of  things,"  as  Alcott 
has  said,  than  almost  any  other  word  which  has  been 
uttered  on  the  subject. 

It  wasJihe  first  full  statement  of  Emerson's  faith  in 
moral  power,  and  in  an  untrammeled  religion  of  the 
spirit.     "Virtue,"  he  says,  " is  a  sentiment  and  delight 
,  in  the  presence  of  certain  divine  laws."     Those  laws  are 
mot  external  revelations,  nor  are  they  conventionalities ; 
they   are   the   ordered  pulse-beats   of  the  Living  All. 
(Obedience  %to  these  laws  makes  the  health  and  integrity 
lof  the  soul.     What  we  call  good  comes  of  obedience  to 
/them;  and  evil  flows  out  of  disobedience.     The  idea  of 
/  law  is  full  of  power ;  "it  is  the  beatitude  of  man."    The 
/    truth  can  always  be  had  by  those  who  desire  it,  but 
each  one  must  seek  it  for  himself.     God  acts  through  all 
souls,  and  no  one   is  the  measure  of  his  truth.     Jesus 
was    a  great  prophet,  but  his  power   has   been  sadly 
degraded  by  actor afion  of  him.     Christianity  found  a 
man  wiiK  an  intuition,  and^eIe_y^J£iLth£LjQ)an,  forgetting 
the  universal  power  of  that  truth  he  taught.     The  per 
sonal  has  been  dwelt  on  to  an  obnoxious  extent,  and 
the  universal  capacities  of  man  have  consequently  been 
ignored.     We  need  to  trust  ourselves,  to  hear  the  voice 
within.     In  the  growth  of  true  sentiments  is  to  be  found 
the  only  genuine  conversion,  not  in  any  faith  in  a  person. 
(God  is  in  every  man,  and   he  should  be  heard  there. 
"The  old  revelation  is  loved  in  lack  of  faith  in  the  living 
truth,    and   the   priest   is   elevated  _  to  power   thereby. 
The  v-^ffice  of   the  preacher   is  a  great    one,  but    only 
the    spirit    can   teach.       fc-Xot    any    profane   man,    not 
any  sensual,  not  any  liar,  not  any  slave  can  teach,  but 
only  he  can  give  who  has ;  he  only  can  create  who  is. 
The  mau  on  whom  the  sou!  descends,  thraugh  whom 
the  soul  speaks,  alone  can  teach."     This  office  is  the 
first  in  the  world.     "  It  is  of  that  reality,  that  it  can  not 
suffer  the;  deduction  of  any  falsehood.     And  it  is  my 
duty  to  say  to  you,  that  the  need  was  never  greater  of 
a  new  revelation  than   now."     Yet   the   offiee   of  the 


68  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

preacher  is  dying,  and  the  church  is  tottering  to  its  fall. 
The  real  work  of  the  pulpit  is  not  discharged;  it 
neglects  "the  expression  of  the  moral  sentiment  in 
application  to  the  duties  of  life."  Man  is  not  made  to 
feel  he  is  an  infinite  soul ;  the  life  of  to-day  is  not 
touched ;  actual  experience  brings  no  lessons.  The 
redemption  is  to  be  sought  in  the  soul.  There  is,  how 
ever,  too  much  faith  in  great  names,  too  great  an  ex 
aggeration  of  the  occasional.  The  true  preacher  must 
"  dare  to  love  God  without  mediator  or  veil."  To  him 
fashion,  custom,  authority,  pleasure,  and  money  must  be 
nothing;  and  he  must  "live  with  the  privilege  of  im 
measurable  mind."  In  the  midst  bf  the  defects  of  the 
church,  we  need  more  faith ;  but  it  must  make  its  own 
forms,  ritual,  and  cultus.  No  system  can  be  contrived 
for  it.  The  old  forms  are  good  enough,  if  "  the  breath 
of  new  life  "  is  in  them.  The  evils  of  the  church  are 
many,  and  need  much  to  be  put  away.  "  The  remedy 
to  their  deformity  is,  first,  soul ;  and  second,  soul ;  and 
evermore,  soul."  A  new  life  and  a  new  faith  is  to  be 
expected,  that  will  bring  fullness  and  power. 

This  discourse  at  once  brought  all  to  realize  what  the 
new  faith  was,  whither  it  tended,  what  it  proposed.  It 
was  warmly  criticised;  it  was  as  warmly  defended. 
The  agitation  it  caused  reached  such  a  height  that  in 
November  The  Christian  Examiner  thought  it  neces 
sary  to  make  this  formal  renunciation  of  it,  in  behalf 
of  the  Unitarians  and  the  Divinity  School :  — 

,    ! 

"We  believe  we  have  the  best  authority, for  saying  that  those 
notions,  so  far  as  they  are  intelligible,  are  utterly  distasteful  to  the 
instructors  of  the  school,  and  to  Unitarian  ministers  generally,  by 
whom  they  are  esteemed  to  be  neither  good  divinity  nor  good  sense. 
.  .  .  We  are  well  convinced  that  the  instructors  of  the  school 
should  hereafter  guard  themselves,  by  a  right  of  veto  on  the  nomi 
nation  of  the  students,  against  the  probability  of  hearing  sentiments 
on  a  public  and  most  interesting  occasion,  and  -within  their  own 
walls,  altogether  repugnant  to  their  feelings,  and  opposed  to  the 
whole  tenor  of  their  own  teachings." 

On  the  evening  of  the  address,  Henry  Ware,  jun., 
then  the  most  prominent  professor  in  the  school,  ex- 


STATING   THE   NEW   FAITH.  69 

pressed  himself,  in  a  conversation  with  Emerson,  as 
favorable  to  what  had  been  said ;  but  the  next  day  he 
wrote,  — 

"  It  has  occurred  to  me,  that,  since  I  said  to  you  last  evening,  I 
should  probably  assent  to  your  unqualified  statements  if  I  could 
take  your  qualifications  with  them,  I  am  bound  in  fairness  to  add, 
that  this  applies  only  to  a  portion,  and  not  to  all.  With  regard  to 
some,  I  must  confess  that  they  appear  to  me  more  than  doubtful, 
and  their  prevalence  would  tend  to  overthrow  the  authority  and 
influence  of  Christianity.  On  this  » account  I  look  with  anxiety 
and  no  little  sorrow  to  the  course  .wjiich  your  mind  has  been  taking. 
You  will  excuse  my  saying  this,  which  I  probably  never  should 
have  troubled  you  with,  if,  as  I  said,  a  proper  frankness  did  not 
seem  at  this  moment  to  require  it.  That  I  appreciate  and  rejoice 
in  the  lofty  ideas  and  beautiful  images  of  spiritual  life  which  you 
throw  out,  and  which  stir  so  many  souls,  is  what  gives  me  a  great 
deal  more  pleasure  to  say.  I  do  not  believe  that  any  one  has  had 
more  enjoyment  from  them.  If  I  could  have  helped  it,  I  would 
not  have  let  you  know  how  much  I  feel  the  abatement  from -the 
cause  I  referred  to."1 

Iii  reply  to  this  truly  manly  letter,  so  expressive  of 
the  noblest  spirit,  albeit  showing  an  unnecessary  fear  lest 
the  old  truths  should  be  ignored,  Emerson  returned  this 
answer :  — 

"  CONCORD,  July  28,  1838. 

"  What  you  say  about  the  discourse  at  Divinity  College  is  just 
what  I  might  expect  from  your  truth  and  charity,  combined  with 
your  known  opinions.  I  am  not  a  rock  or  a  ston'e,  as  one  said  in 
the  old  time,  and  could  not  feel  but  pain  in  saying  some  things  in 
that  place  and  presence  which  I  supposed  would  meet  with  dissent, 
and  the  dissent,  I  may  say,  of  dear  friends  and  benefactors  of  mine. 
Yet,  as  my  conviction  is  perfect  in  the  substantial  truth  of  the  doc 
trines  of  this  discourse,  and  is  not  very  new,  you  will  see  at  once 
that  it  must  appear  very  important  that  it  be  spoken ;  and  I 
thought  I  could  not  pay  the  nobleness  of  my  friends  so  mean  a 
compliment  as  to  suppress  my  opposition  to  their  supposed  views 
out  of  fear  of  offense.  I  would  rather  say  to  them,  These  things 
look  thus  to  me ;  to  you,  otherwise.  Let  us  say  out  our  uttermost 
word;  and  be  the  all-pervading  truth,  as  it  surely  will,  judge 
between  us.  Meantime,  I  shall  be  admonished,  by  this  expression 
of  your  thought,  to  revise  with  greater  care  the  '  address '  before 

1  This  and  the  subsequent  letters  are  pubjished  in  the  Life  of  Ware, 
vol.  ii.  p.  183,  where  his  biographer  indicates  ho\v  strong  was  Ware's 
distrust  of  Emerson's  new  views,  and  how  much  evil  he  thought  they 
would  do. 


70  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

it  is  printed  (for  the  use  of  the  class)  ;  and  I  heartily  thank  you  foi 
this  renewed  expression  of  your  tried  toleration  and  love. 
"  Kespectfully  and  affectionately  yours, 

«R.  W.  E." 

In  the  delivery  of  his  address,  Emerson  left  out  a 
passage  cautioning  those  who  would  follow  the  new 
method  against  looking  on  the  past  with  contempt,  and 
against  setting  up  their  own  souls  as  higher  standards 
of  truth  than  that  of  Jesus  !  Miss  Peabody  relates  that 
she  was  at  his  house  when  he  was  preparing  it  for  the 
press,  and  read  the  address.  When  she  came  to  this  pas 
sage  which  had  been  omitted,  she  begged  him  to  insert 
it.  He  reflected,  and  said,  "  No  :  these  gentlemen  have 
committed  themselves  against  what  I  did  read ;  and  it 
would  not  be  courteous  or  fair  to  spring  upon  them  this 
passage  now,  which  w6uld  convict  them  of  an  unwar- 
rerited  inference."  In  relating  this  deeply  interesting 
incident,1  Miss  Peabody  adds,  "  I  thought  this  an  ex 
treme  of  gentlemanliness,  but  saw  that  Mr.  Emerson's 
aim  was  nothing  less  than  to  induce  others  to  look  for 
the  truth  for  themselves,  and  not  to  prove  that  he  had 
found  it.  He  was  not  writing  for  victory  for  himself, 
but  for  truth's  sake.  If  he  kept  to  the  truth  in  what 
he  did  publish,  that  must  draw  the  whole  truth  after  it, 
as  he  said,  and  in  due  time  refute  all  false  inferences." 
It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted  now  that  this  omitted  pas 
sage  was  not  inserted ;  but  not  because,  as  Miss  Peabody 
supposes,  it  would  have  prevented  an  excess  of  indi 
vidualism.  Even  Emerson's  name  could  not  have  stayed 
the  tendencies  of  thought.  It  would  have  been  shown, 
however,  that  he  appreciated  the  historic  side  of  reli 
gion,  and  the  social  nature  of  all  true  worship.  That  he 
fully  realized  the  folly  of  making  concessions  in  regard 
to  a  great  principle,  is  shown  in  another  incident  re 
lated  by  Miss  Peabody.  While  correcting  the  proof- 
sheets  of  the  address,  he  read  to  Mrs.  Emerson  and  Miss 
Peabody  the  paragraph  in  vvhich  he  speaks  of  the  first 
defect  of  historical  Christianity,  that  of  dwelling  "  with 

i  Reminiscences  of  William  Ellery  Channing,  by  Miss  E.  P.  Pea- 
body  ;  a  very  interesting  book. 


STATING   THE   NEW   FAITH.  71 

noxious  exaggeration  about  the  person  of  Jesus,"  and 
by  which  "the  friend  of  man  is  made  the  injurer  of 
man."  He  said  to  them,  "  How  does  that  strike  your 
Hebrew  souls?  "  Miss  Peabody  replied,  "I  like  it ;  but 
put  a  large  F  to  designate  Jesus  as  the  Friend  of  souls." 
After  a  moment's  thought,  he  replied,  "  No  :  directly  I 
put  that  large  F  in  they  will  all  go  to  sleep." 

Sept.  23  Ware  preached  a  sermon  before  the  Divinity 
School  on  The  Personality  of  God,  which  was  at 
once  printed.  It  was  regarded  as  a  reply  to  Emerson, 
and  offers  six  objections  to  the  positions  supposed  to 
be  maintained  by  him :  that  conscious  being  is  the 
greatest  fact  known  to  us ;  that  the  views  the  preacher 
is  combating  amount  to  ajirtual  denial  of  God;  that  to 
exclude  personality  is  to  destroy  the  object  of  worship  ; 
that  the.  sense  of  responsibility  is  removed  by  loss  oi 
faith  in  personality ;  that  these  new  notions  are  opposed 
to  the  Bible,  and  that  they  destroy  the  possibility  of  a 
revelation.  He  pleads  for  a  Father  to  love  and  cure  foi 
us,  and  says,  "  The  idea  of  personality  must  be  added  to 
that  of  natural  and  moral  perfection,  in  order  to  the  full 
definition  of  Christianity."  The  full  meaning  of  hia 
sermon  comes  out  in  these  words :  — 

"  If  the  material  universe  rests  on  the  laws  of  attraction,  affinity, 
heat,  motion,  still  all  of  them  together  are  no  Deity ;  if  the  moral 
universe  is  founded  on  the  principles  of  righteousness,  truth,  love, 
neither  are  these  the  Deity.  There  must  be  some  Being  to  put  in 
action  these  principles,  to  exercise  these  attributes.  To  call  the 
principles  and  the  attributes  God,  is  to  violate  the  established  use 
of  language,  and  to  confound  the  common  apprehensions  of  man 
kind.  It  is  in  vain  to  hope  by  so  doing  to  escape  the  charge  of 
atheism.  There  is  no  other  atheism  conceivable.  There  is  a  per 
sonal  God,  or  there  is  none." 

That  this  sermon  was  understood  to  be  aimed  at 
Emerson  is  distinctly  stated  in  The  Christian  Examiner, 
where  the  address  is  again  spoken  of  as  "  the  lucubra 
tions  of  an  individual  who  has  no  connection  with  the 
school  whatever."  The  sermon,  it  is  stated,  "  will  tend 
to  disabuse  the  minds  of  many  respecting  the  true 
character  and  tendency  of  a  set  of  newly  broached 


72  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

fancies,  which,  deceived  by  the  high-sounding  preten 
sions  of  their  proclahners,  they  may  have  thought  were 
about  to  quicken  and  reform  the  world." 

Ware  sent  a  copy  of  his  sermon  to  Emerson,  accom 
panied  with  this  letter :  — 

"  CAMBRIDGE,  Oct.  3,  1838. 

"  MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  By  this  mail  you  will  probably  receive  a  copy 
of  a  sermon  which  I  have  just  printed,  and  which  I  am  unwilling 
should  fall  into  your  hands  without  a  word  from  myself  accompany 
ing  it.  It  has  been  regarded  as  controverting  some  positions  taken 
by  you  at  various  times,  and  was,  indeed,  written  partly  with  a  view 
to  them.  But  I  am  anxious  to  have  it  understood,  that,  as  I  am 
not  perfectly  aware  of  the  precise  nature  of  your  opinions  on  the 
subject  of  the  discourse,  nor  upon  exactly  what  speculations  they 
are  grounded,  I  do  not,  therefore,  pretend  especially  to  enter  the  lists 
with  them,  but  rather  to  give  my  own  views  of  an  important  subject, 
and  of  the  evils  which  seem  to  be  attendant  on  a  rejection  of  the 
established  opinions.  I  hope  that  I  have  not  argued  unfairly ;  and 
if  I  assail  positions,  or  reply  to  arguments  which  are  none  Of  yours, 
I  am  solicitous  that  nobody  should  persuade  you  that  I  suppose 
them  to  be  yours ;  since  I  do  not  know  by  what  arguments  the 
doctrine  that  '  the  soul  knows  no  persons '  is  justified  to  your 
mind. 

"  To  say  this,  is  the  chief  purpose  of  my  writing ;  and  I  wish  to 
add,  that  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  been  earnestly  persuaded  that 
men  are  suffering  from  want  of  sufficiently  realizing  the  fact  of  the 
Divine  Person.  I  used  .to  perceive  it,  as  I  thought,  when  I  was  a 
minister  in  Boston,  in  talking  with  my  people,  and  to  refer  to  this 
cause  much  of  the  lifelessness  of  the  religious  character.  I  have  seen 
evils  from  the  same  cause  among  young  men,  since  I  have  been 
where  I  am,  and  have  been  prompted  to  think  much  of  the  question 
how  they  should  be  removed.  When,  therefore,  I  was  called  to 
discourse  at  length  on  the  Divine  Being  in  a  series  of  college 
sermons,  it  naturally  occurred  to  me  to  give  prominence  to  this 
point,  the  rather  as  it  was  one  of  those  to  which  attention  had  been 
recently  drawn,  and  about  which  a  strong  interest  was  felt. 

"I  confess  that  I  esteem  it  particularly  unhappy  to  be  thus 
brought  into  a  sort  of  public  opposition  to  you,  for  I  have  a  thousand 
feelings  which  draw  me  toward  you ;  but  my  situation,  and  the  cir 
cumstances  of  the  times,  render  it  unavoidable  ;  and  both  you  and  I 
understand  that  we  are  to  act  on  the  maxim,  « Amicus  Plato,  ami- 
cus  Socrates,  sed  may  is  arnica  Verilas.'  (I  believe  I  quote  right.) 
We  would  gladly  agree  with  all  our  friends;  but  that  being  impos 
sible,  and  it  being  impossible  also  to  choose  which  of  them  we  will 
differ  from,  we  must  submit  to  the  common  lot  of  thinkers,  and 
make  up  in  love  of  heart  what  we  want  in  unity  of  judgment. 
But  I  am  growing  prosy,  so  I  break  off. 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

«H.  WARE,  Jim." 


STATING   THE   NEW   FAITH.  73 

To  this  admirable  letter  Emerson  returned  the  follow 
ing  characteristic  reply :  — 

"  CONCORD,  Oct.  8,  1838. 

"MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  ought  sooner  to  have  acknowledged  your 
kind  letter  of  last  week,  and  the  sermon  it  accompanied.  The  letter 
was  right  manly  and  noble.  The  sermon,  too,  I  have  read  with 
attention.  If  it  assails  any  doctrine  of  mine,  —  perhaps  I  am  not 
so  quick  to  see  it  as  writers  generally,  —  certainly  I  did  not  feel  any 
disposition  to  depart  from  my  habitual  contentment,  that  you  should 
say  your  thought,  whilst  I  say  mine.  I  believe  I  must  tell  you  what 
I  think  of  my  new  position.  It  strikes  me  very  oddly  that  good  and 
wise  men  at  Cambridge  and  Boston  should  think  of  raising  me 
into  an  object  of  criticism.  I  have  always  been  —  from  my  very 
incapacity  of  methodical  writing  —  "  a  chartered  libertine,"  free  to 
worship  and  free  to  rail,  —  lucky  when  1  could  make  myself  under 
stood,  but  never  esteemed  near  enough  to  the  institutions  and  mind 
of  society  to  deserve  the  notice  of  the  masters  of  literature  and 
religion.  I  have  appreciated  fully  the  advantages  of  my  position, 
for  I  well  know  that  there  is  no  scholar  less  willing  or  less  able  to 
be  a  polemic.  I  could  not  give  account  of  myself  if  challenged.  I 
could  not  possibly  give  you  cne  of  the  '  arguments '  you  cruelly 
hint  at,  on  which  any  doctrine  of  mine  stands ;  for  I  do  not  know 
what  arguments  mean  in  reference  to  any  expression  of  a  thought. 
I  delight  in  telling  what  I  think ;  but  if  you  ask  me  how  I  dare" say 
so,  or  why  it  is  so,  I  am  the  most  helpless  of  mortal  men.  I  do  not 
even  se.e  that  either  of  these  questions  admits  of  an  answer.  So 
that,  in  the  present  droll  posture  of  my  affairs,  when  I  see  myself 
suddenly  raised  into  the  importance  of  a  heretic,  I  am  very  uneasy 
when  I  advert  to  the  supposed  duties  of  such  a  personage,  who  is  to 
make  good  his  thesis  against  all  comers. 

"  I  certainly  shall  do  no  such  thing.  I  shall  read  what  you  and 
other  good  men  write;  as  I  have  always  done,  —  glad  when  you 
speak  my  thoughts,  and  skipping  the  page  which  has  nothing  for 
me.  I  shall  go  on  just  as  before,  seeing  whatever  I  can,  and  telling 
what  I  see,  and,  I  suppose,  with  the  same  fortune  that  has  hitherto 
attended  me,  —  the  joy  of  finding  that  my  abler  and  better  brothers 
who  work  with  the  sympathy  of  society,  loving  and  beloved,  do 
now  and  then  unexpectedly  confirm  my  perceptions,  and  find  my 
nonsense  is  only  their  own  thought  in  motley. 

"  And  so  I  am,  your  affectionate  servant, 

"  11.  W.  EMERSON." 

This  letter  is  full  of  interest,  as  showing  Emerson's 
methods,  how  his  mind  acts,  and  the  striking  modesty 
of  the  man.  Its  perfect  candor  gives  it  a  great  charm ; 
for  few  writers  would  reveal,  as  he  does,  all  the  secrets 
of  their  thought.  To  his  critic  he  opens  confidentially 


74  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

all  his  own  weak  places,  and  himself  reveals  the  most 
serious  argument  which  could  be  raised  against  his 
opinions.  His  entire  willingness  to  let  the  truth  vindi 
cate  itself  is  most  admirable.  With  such  themes  as  his, 
there  is  little  likely  to  be  gained  by  mere  debate ;  for 
each  mind  can  only  give  expression  to  what  appears  in 
its  own  mental  experience.  Dogmatic  arguments  do  no 
good  here :  only  the  simple  search  for  truth.  It  may 
well  be  questioned  whether  Emerson's  method  best 
answers  in  securing  that  truth  for  "which  we  seek ;  but 
his  spirit  is,  beyond  all  criticism,  earnest,  faithful,  and 
single-eyed. 

The  controversy  started  by  Emerson's  address  did 
not  soon  subside.  The  next  year,  July  19,  Andrews 
Norton  gave  an  address  before  the  alumni  of  the  Di 
vinity  School,  on  The  Latest  Form  of  Infidelity.  He 
said  the  eighteenth-century  disbelief  has  lost  its  power, 
but  infidelity  has  assumed  another  and  a  more  subtle 
form.  It  follows  "the  celebrated  atheist  Spinoza,  and, 
while  claiming  to  be  Christian,  denies  Christianity  in  a 
denial  of  its  miracles."  He  then  entered  into  a  long 
defense  of  miracles,  claiming  that  the  whole  life  of 
Christ  must  be  regarded  as  miraculous.  That  he  had  a 
divine  commission  can  only  be  proved  by  "  miraculous 
displays  of  God's  power,"  while  there  is  nothing  left  if 
this  is  denied.  To  the  demand  of  the  transcendentalists 
for  some  more  positive  evidence  for  the  truths  of  reli 
gion  than  those  afforded  by  history,  he  says  there  can 
be  no  intuition,  no  direct  perception,  no  metaphysical 
certainty,  outside  of  historical  evidences.  There  is  uno 
absolute  certainty  beyond  the  limit  of  momentary  con 
sciousness, —  a  certainty  that  vanishes  the  moment  it 
exists,  and  is  lost  in  the  region  of  metaphysical  doubt." 
Two  lengthy  notes  were  appended  to  this  address,  when 
published,  directed  against  German  thought.  The 
whole  transcendental  movement  was  sharply  attacked, 
and  in  the  most  decisive  manner.  Replies  to  this 
address  appeared  from  George  Ripley,  Brownson,  The- 
ophilus  Parsons,  and  J.  F.  Clarke.  .  Emerson's  address 
became  the  subject  of  frequent  sermons,  and  the  air 


STATING   THE  NEW  FAITH.  75 

was  full  of  pamphlets  and  newspaper  articles.  The 
Unitarian  ministers  debated  whether  Emerson  was  a 
Christian  ;  some  said  he  was  not ;  some  that  he  was  an 
atheist ;  while  others  earnestly  defended  him.  By  some 
of  the-  "  Friends  of  Progress,"  when  his  attitude  was 
discussed,  he  was  pronounced  a  pantheist,  denying  the 
personality  of  God ;  while  his  views  were  regarded  as 
dangerous. 

Emerson  did  not  stand  alone  at  this  time.  He  had 
many  zealous  friends  and  fellow-believers.  Parker 
heard  his  address,  was  roused  by  it  to  enthusiasm,  and 
recorded  in  his  diary  his  purpose  of  writing  at  once 
"  the  long  meditated  sermons  on  the  state  of  the  church 
and  the  duties  of  these  times."  "  So  beautiful,  so  just, 
so  true,  and  terribly  sublime,"  says  Parker,  "was  his  pic 
ture  of  the  faults  of  the  church  in  its  present  condition." 
In  writing  to  a  friend,  he  said,  — 

"It  was  the  noblest  of  all  his  performances ;  a  little  exaggerated, 
with  some  philosophical  untruths,  it  seemed  to  me ;  but  the  noblest, 
the  most  inspiring  strain  I  ever  listened  to." 

Miss  Elizabeth  Peabody  was  present  also,  and  thought 
44  there  never  before  had  been  a  discourse  there  that  so 
justified  the  foundation  principle  of  the  Divinity  School, 
as  it  was  stated  by  Dr.  Charming  in  his  dedication  ser 
mon  ; "  and  Charming  could  himself  discover  no  differ 
ence  between  his  sermon  and  Emerson's  address.  Chan- 
ning  said  that  Ware,  in  his  sermon  on  the  personality 
of  God,  was  "fighting  a  shadow;  for  Mr.  Emerson  ex 
pressly  says,  and  makes  a  great  point  of  it,  that  God  is 
alive,  not  dead;  and  would  have  the  gospel  narrative  left 
to  make  its  own  impression  of  an  indwelling  life,  like 
the  growing  grass." l  The  impression  Emerson  made 
upon  his  friends  may  be  seen  from  these  words,  written 
in  September,  by  Convers  Francis :  — 

"  Spent  the  night  at  Mr.  Emerson's.  When  we  were  alone  he 
talked  of  his  discourse  at  the  Divinity  School,  and  of  the  obloquy 
it  had  drawn  upon  him.  He  is  perfectly  quiet  amid  the  storm. 

1  Miss  E.  P.  Peabody's  Reminiscences  of  William  Ellery  Channing, 
p.  379. 


76  RALPH   WALDO*  EMERSON. 

To  my  objections  and  remarks  he  gave  the  most  cordial  replies, 
though  we  could  not  agree  on  some  points.  The  more  I  see  of  this 
beautiful  spirit,  the  more  I  revere  and  love  him.  Such  a  calm, 
steady,  simple  soul,  always  looking  for  truth,  and  living  in  wisdom 
and  in  love  for  man  and  goodness,  I  have  never  met.  Mr.  Emer 
son  is  not  one  whose  vocation  it  is  to  state  processes  of  argument ; 
he  is  a  seer  who  reports  in  sweet  and  significant  words  what  he 
sees.  He  looks  into  the  infinite  of  truth,  and  reveals  what  there 
passes  before  his  vision.  If  you  see  it  as  he  does,  you  will  recog 
nise  him  as  a  gifted  teacher ;  "if  not,  there  is  little  or  nothing  to  be 
said  about  it.  But  do  not  brand  him  with  the  names  of  visionary, 
or  fanatic,  or  pretender ;  he  is  no  such  thing.  He  is  a  true,  godl'ul 
man  ;  though  in  his  love  for  the  ideal  he  disregards  too  much  the 
actual." 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  agitation  Emerson  remained 
perfectly  self-possessed,  quietly  pursuing  his  studies,  and 
making  no  reply  to  those  who  opposed  his  opinions. 
What  he  had  to  say  he  did  not  hesitate  to  utter  with  all 
necessary  emphasis,  but  he  sought  in  no  manner  what 
ever  to  defend  his  own  ideas.  He  left  them  to  make 
their  own  way,  to  enforce  their  own  worth  and  impor 
tance.  His  letter  to  Ware  amply  indicates  his  accept 
ance  of  intuition  as  the  only  genuine  method  of  truth. 
His  attitude  was,  that  the  truth  is  communicated  to  the 
mind  from  its  unity  with  the  Universal  Mind,  and  can 
not  be  argued  about  or  added  to  by  reasoning.  This 
oneness  of  the  individual  mind  with  Universal  Mind,  as 
he  stated  it,  gave  rise  to  the  conception  that  he  was  a 
pantheist.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  such  names  did 
not  occur  to  him,  and  that  he  followed  out  sincerely 
the  conclusions  of  a  truly  spiritual  conception  of  life 
md  nature. 

The  controversy  which  followed  his  address  had  the 
effect  of  finally  separating  him  from  the  Unitarians  and 
of  causing  him  to  abandon  the  pulpit.  He  saw  how 
strongly  the  Unitarians  were  wedded  to  the  old  forms, 
and  he  found  himself  more  and  more  alienated  from 
them.  He  could  not  continue  to  preach  amidst  contro 
versy  and  objection ;  so  he  quietly  withdrew,  to  do  his 
work  in  a  manner  of  his  own. 


UNIVERSITY 


VII. 

THE  DIAL. 

IN  his  Historical  Notes  of  American  Life  and  Letter^ 
Emerson  says  "the  only  result"  of  the  club  organ 
ized  by  Dr.  Channing  "  was  to  initiate  the  little  quar 
terly  called  The  Dial"  Concerning  that  journal  he 
says,  "  A  modest  quarterly  journal  called  The  Dial, 
under  the  editorship  of  Margaret  Fuller,  enjoyed  its 
obscurity  for  four  years,  when  it  ended.  Its  papers 
were  the  contribution  and  work  of  friendship  among  a 
narrow  circle  of  writers.  Perhaps  its  writers  were  also 
its  chief  readers.  But  it  had  some  noble  papers;  per 
haps  the  best  of  Margaret  Fuller's.  It  had  some  num 
bers  highly  important,  because  they  contained  papers 
by  Theodore  Parker."  The  Dial  grew  out  of  a  desire 
for  a  medium  of  communication  among  those  inter 
ested  in  the  ideas  expressed  in  the  Transcendental 
Club.  To  afford  a  means  of  expression  to  these  thinkers 
was  its  main  object.  It  was  conducted  in  a  spirit  of 
friendship  and  sympathy  far  more  than  of  critical  re 
gard  for  the  literary  value  of  what  it  published.  In  one 
number  the  editor  said  it  had  been  "almost  as  much 
a  journal  of  friendship  as  of  literature  and  morals." 
Fresh,  aspiring  minds  were  invited  to  its  pages  rather 
than  those  learned  and  critical.  Every  page  was 
fragrant  with  idealism,  and  echoed  the  hopes  of  the 
time. 

The  establishment  of  such  a  journal  was  first  dis 
cussed  in  a  meeting  of  the  club  held  in  the  house  of 
Rev.  C.  A.  Bartol,  in  1839.  At  that  meeting  Parker, 
Bartol,  Hedge,  Margaret  Fuller,  Ripley,  Alcott,  and 
W.  H.  Channing  were  present ;  and  these  persons,  with 
Emerson,  constituted  the  movers  in  the  new  project. 


78  KALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

At  this  or  a  subsequent  meeting,  when  the  name  was 
discussed,  Alcott  mentioned  some  extracts  from  his 
diary  he  had  just  made,  and  to  which  he  had  given 
the  title  of  The  Dial.  He  suggested  this  name  for  the 
new  journal,  and  it  was  unanimously  accepted  as  ex 
pressive  of  its  purpose  and  spirit. 

The  Dial  was  discussed  for  many  months  at  the 
meetings  of  the  club,  no  one  being  Avilling  to  assume 
the  editorship  of  the  projected  periodical.  After  much 
solicitation,  Margaret  Fuller  consented  to  undertake 
what  Emerson  calls  this  "  private  and  friendly  service." 
In  March,  1840,  she  writes  very  doubtingly  about  the 
new  enterprise,  declaring  that  she  herself,  while  she 
had  a  great  deal  written,  had  "  scarce  a  word  pertinent 
to  the  place  or  time."  She  writes  thus  of  the  plans  to 
be  followed :  — 

"  A  perfectly  free  organ  is  to  be  offered  for  the  expression  of 
individual  thought  and  character.  There  are  no  party  measures  to 
be  carried,  no  particular  standard  to  be  set  up.  A  fair,  calm  tone, 
a  recognition  of  universal  principles,  will,  T  hope,  pervade  the  essays 
in  every  form.  I  trust  there  will  be  a  spirit  neither  of  dogmatism 
nor  of  compromise,  and  that  this  journal  will  aim,  not  at  leading 
public  opinion,  but  at  stimulating  each  man  to  judge  for  himself, 
and  to  think  more  deeply  and  more  nobly,  by  letting  him  see  how 
some  minds  are  kept  alive  by  a  wise  self-trust.  We  must  not  be 
sanguine  as  to  the  amount  of  talent  which  will  be  brought  to  bear 
on  this  publication.  All  concerned  are  rather  indifferent,  and  there 
is  no  great  promise  for  the  present.  We  can  not  show  high  culture, 
and  I  doubt  about  vigorous  thought.  But  we  shall  manifest  free 
action  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  a  high  aim.  It  were  much  if  a  peri 
odical  could  be  kept  open,  not  to  accomplish  any  outward  object, 
but  merely  to  afford  an  avenue  for  what  of  liberal  and  calm 
thought  might  be  originated  among  us  by  the  wants  of  individual 
minds." 

Perhaps  no  journal  was  ever  undertaken  more  diffi 
dently  than  was  The  Dial  by  those  interested  in  it. 
In  April  Margaret  Fuller  again  wrote  that  the  project 
went  on  "  pretty  well,  but  doubtless  people  will  be  dis 
appointed."  She  proposed  herself  only  to  "hazard  a 
few  critical  remarks,  or  an  unpretending  chalk-sketch 
now  and  then."  The  first  number  came  out  in  July, 


THE   DIAL.  79 

1840,  as  a  quarterly  Magazine  for  Literature,  Philoso 
phy,  and  Religion.  The  "  prospectus  "  thus  set  forth 
its  aims :  — 

"  The  purpose  of  this  work  is  to  furnish  a  medium  for  the  freest 
expression  of  thought  on  the  questions  which  interest  earnest  minds 
in  every  community. 

"  It  aims  at  the  discussion  of  principles  rather  than  at  the  pro 
motion  of  measures  ;  and,  while  it  will  not  fail  to  examine  the  ideas 
which  impel  the  loading  movements  of  the  present  day,  it  will  main 
tain  an  independent  position  in  regard  to  them. 

"  The  pages  of  this  journal  will  be  filled  by  contributors  who 
possess  little  in  common  but  the  love  of  intellectual  freedom  and 
the  hope  of  social  progress ;  who  are  united  by  sympathy  of  spirit, 
not  by  agreement  in  speculation ;  whose  faith  is  in  Divine  Provi 
dence  rather  than  in  human  prescription ;  whose  hearts  are  more  in 
the  future  than  in  the  past,  and  who  trust  the  living  soul  rather 
than  the  dead  letter.  It  will  endeavor  to  promote  the  constant 
evolution  of  truth,  not  the  petrifaction  of  opinion. 

"  Its  contents  will  embrace  a  wide  and  varied  range  of  subjects ; 
and,  combining  the  characteristics  of  a  magazine  and  review,  it  may 
present  something,  both  for  those  who  read  for  instruction  and 
those  who  search  for  amusement. 

"  The  general  design  and  character  of  the  work  may  be  under 
stood  from  the  above  brief  statement.  It  may  be  proper  to  add, 
that  in  literature  it  will  strive  to  exercise  a  just  and  catholic  criti 
cism,  and  to  recognize  every  sincere  production  of  genius.  In  phi 
losophy  it  will  attempt  the  reconciliation  of  the  universal  instincts 
of  humanity  with  the  largest  conclusions  of  reason  ;  and  in  religion 
it  will  reverently  seek  to  discern  the  presence  of  God  in  nature,  in 
history,  and  in  the  soul  of  man." 

Each  number  contained  one  hundred  and  thirty-six 
octavo  pages ;  and,  after  the  first  number,  there  was  a 
"record  of  the  months,"  and  "literary  intelligence."1 
•As  a  fair  specimen  of  the  whole  work,  the  table  of 
contents  of  the  first  number  may  be  given,  with  the 
names  of  the  authors,  so  far  as  ascertained. 

1  The  Dial  was  at  first  published  by  Weeks,  Jordan,  &  Co.,  121 
"Washington  Street,  at  three  dollars  a  year.  It  seems  to  have  been  so 
poorly  patronized  as  to  cause  a  frequent  change  of  publishers;  for  the 
names  of  W.  H.  S.  Jordan,  Jordan  &  Co.,  E.  P.  Peabody,  and  James 
Munroe  &  Co.,  successively  appear  in  that  capacity. 


80 


KALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 


No.  I. 

The  Editors  to  the  Reader      .... 

A  Short  Essay  on  Critics        .... 

To  the  Aurora  Borealis  (poem) 

Notes  from  the  Journal  of  a  Scholar 

The  Religion  of  Beauty          .... 

Brownson's  Writings      ..... 

The  Last  Farewell 

Ernest  the  Seeker  (chapter  first)    . 

The  Divine  Presence  in  Nature  and  in  the  Soul 

Sympathy  (poem)  ...... 

Lines      ........ 

Exhibition  of  Allston's  Pictures     . 

Song 

To  —  (poem)  .         .         .         . 

Orphic  Sayings 

Stanzas  ........ 

Channing's  Translation  of  Jouffroy 

Aulus  Persius  Flaccus    ..... 

The  Shield  (poem) 

The  Problem 

Come  Morir  ?  (poem) 

Lines  (1  slept,  and  dreamed  that  life  was 

Beauty) 

The  Concerts  of  the  Past  Winter  . 

A  Dialogue  (poem)         ..... 

Richter  (two  poems) 

Dante  (poem) 

Two  Short  Poems  . 


R.  W.  Emerson. 
Margaret  Fuller. 
C.  P.  C  ranch. 
Charles  Emerson. 
John  S.  Dii'ight. 
George  Ripley. 
Edward  Emerson. 
W.  H.  Channing. 
Theodore  Parker. 
Henry  D.  Thoreau. 

Margaret  Fuller. 

R.  W.  Emerson. 
A.  Branson  Alcott. 
C.  P.  Cranch. 
Wilson. 


R.  W.  Emerson. 


Mrs.  Ellen  Hooper. 
John  S.  Dwight. 
Margaret  Fuller. 
Margaret  Fuller. 
Sarah  Clarke. 


The  spirit  and  purpose  of  The  Dial  is  best  shown 
in  the  introductory  article  by  Emerson.  It  is  here 
reprinted  in  full,  as  indicating  the  hopes  which  the  new 
thought  had  created  :  — 

"THE  EDITORS   TO  THE  READER. 

"  We  invite  the  attention  of  our  countrymen  to  a  new  design. 
Probably  not  quite  unexpected  or  unannounced  will  our  journal 
appear,  though  small  pains  have  been  taken  to  secure  its  welcome. 
Those  who  have  immediately  acted  in  editing  the  present  number 
can  not  accuse  themselves  of  any  unbecoming  forwardness  in  their 
undertaking,  but  rather  of  a  backwardness,  when  they  remember 
how  often  in  many  private  circles  the  work  was  projected,  how 
eagerly  desired,  and  only  postponed  because  no  individual  volun 
teered  to  combine  and  concentrate  the  free-will  offerings  of  many 
co-operators.  With  some  reluctance  the  present  conductors  of  this 


r    THE  DIAL.  81 

work  have  yielded  themselves  to  the  wishes  of  their  friends,  finding 
something  sacred  and  not  to  be  withstood  in  the  importunity  which 
urged  the  production  of  a  journal  in  a  new  spirit. 

"  As  they  have  not  proposed  themselves  to  the  work,  neither  can 
they  lay  any  the  least  claim  to  an  option  or  determination  of  the 
spirit  in  which  it  is  conceived,  or  to  what  is  peculiar  in  the  design. 
In  that  respect,  they  have  obeyed,  though  with  great  joy,  the  strong 
current  of  thought  and  feeling,  which,  for  a  few  years  past,  has  led 
many  sincere  persons  in  New  England  to  make  new  demands  on 
literature,  and  to  reprobate  that  rigor  of  our  conventions  of  reli 
gion  and  education  which  is  turning  us  to  stone,  which  renounces 
hope,  which  looks  only  backward,  which  asks  only  such  a  future  as 
the  past,  which  suspects  improvement,  and  holds  nothing  so  much 
in  horror  as  new  views  and  the  dreams  of  youth. 

"  With  these  terrors,  the  conductors  of  the  present  journal  have 
nothing  to  do,  — not  even  so  much  as  a  word  of  reproach  to  waste. 
They  know  that  there  is  a  portion  of  the  youth  and  of  the  adult 
population  of  this  country  who  have  not  snared  them ;  who  have, 
in  secret  or  in  public,  paid  their  vows  to  truth  and  freedom ;  who 
love  reality  too  well  to  care  for  names ;  and  who  live  by  a  faith  too 
earnest  and  profound  to  suffer  them  to  doubt  the  eternity  of  its 
object,  or  to  shake  themselves  free  from  its  authority.  Under  the 
fictions  and  customs  which  occupied  others,  these  have  explored  the 
Necessary,  the  Plain,  the  True,  the  Human,  and  so  gain  a  vantage- 
ground  which  commands  the  history  of  the  past  and  present. 

"  No  one  can  converse  much  with  different  classes  of  society  in 
New  England  without  remarking  the  progress  of  a  revolution. 
Those  who  share  in  it  have  no  external  organization,  no  badge,  no 
creed,  no  name.  They  do  not  vote,  or  print,  or  even  meet  together. 
They  do  not  know  each  other's  faces  or  names.  They  are  united 
only  in  a  common  love  of  truth,  and  love  of  its  work.  They  are 
of  all  conditions  and  constitutions.  Of  these  acolytes,  if  some  are 
happily  born  and  well  bred,  many  are,  no  doubt,  ill  dressed,  ill 
placed,  ill  made,  with  as  many  scars  of  hereditary  vice  as  other 
men.  Without  pomp,  without  trumpet,  in  lonely  and  obscure 
places,  in  solitude,  in  servitude,  in  compunctions  and  privations, 
trudging  beside  the  team  in  the  dusty  road,  or  drudging  a  hireling 
in  other  men's  cornfields,  schoolmasters  who  teach  a  few  children 
rudiments  for  a  pittance,  ministers  of  small  parishes  of  the 
obscurer  sects,  lone  women  in  dependent  condition,  matrons  and 
young  maidens,  rich  and  poor,  beautiful  and  hard-favored,  without 
concert  or  proclamation  of  any  kind,  they  have  silently  given  in  their 
several  adherence  to  a  new  hope,  and  in  all  companies  do  signify  a 
greater  trust  in  the  nature  and  resources  of  man  than  the  laws  or 
the  popular  opinions  will  well  allow. 

"  This  spirit  of  the  time  is  felt  by  every  individual  with  some 
difference,  —  to  each  one  casting  its  light  upon  the  objects  nearest 
to  his  temper  and  habits  of  thought :  to  one,  coining  in  the  form  of 
special  reforms  in  the  state;  to  another,  in  modifications  of  the 


82  BALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

various  callings  of  men,  and  the  customs  of  business ;  to  a  third, 
opening  a  new  scope  for  literature  and  art;  to  a  fourth,  in  philo 
sophical  insight ;  to  a  fifth,  in  the  vast  solitudes  of  prayer.  It  is  in 
evjry  form  a  protest  against  usage,  and  a  search  for  .principles.  In 
all  its  movements  it  is  peaceable,  and  in  the  very  lowest  marked 
with  a  triumphant  success.  Of  course  it  rouses  the  opposition  of 
all  which  it  judges  and  condemns ;  but  it  is  too  confident  in  its  tone 
to  comprehend  an  objection,  and  so  builds  no  outworks  for  possible 
defense  against  contingent  enemies.  It  has  the  step  of  Fate,  and 
goes  on  existing  like  an  oak  or  a  river,  —  because  it  must. 

"  In  literature  this  influence  appears  not  yet  in  new  books  so 
much  as  in  the  higher  tone  of  criticism.  The  antidote  to  all  nar 
rowness  is  the  comparison  of  the  record  with  nature,  which  at  once 
shames  the  record,  and  stimulates  to  new  attempts.  Whilst  we 
look  at  this,  we  wonder  how  any  book  has  been  thought  worthy  to 
be  preserved.  There  is  somewhat  in  all  life  untranslatable  into 
language.  lie  who  keeps  his  eye  on  that  will  write  better  than 
others,  and  think  less  of  his  writing  and  of  all  writing.  Every 
thought  has  a  certain  imprisoning,  as  well  as  uplifting  quality,  and, 
in  proportion  to  its  energy  on  the  will,  refuses  to  become  an  'object 
of  intellectual  contemplation.  Thus,  what  is  great  usually  slips 
through  our  fingers  ;  and  it  seems  wonderful  how  a  lifelike  word 
ever  comes  to  be  written.  If  our  journal  share  the  impulses  of  the 
time,  it  can  not  now  prescribe  its  own  course.  It  can  not  foretell 
in  orderly  propositions  what  it  shall  attempt.  All  criticism  should 
be  poetic,  unpredictable ;  superseding,  as  every  new  thought  does, 
all  foregone  thoughts,  and  making  a  new  light  on  the  whole  world. 
Its  brow  is  not  wrinkled  with  circumspection,  but  serene,  cheerful, 
adoring.  It  has  all  things  to  say,  and  no  less  than  all  the  world 
for  its  final  audience. 

"  Our  plan  embraces  much  more  than  criticism  ;  were  it  not  so, 
our  criticism  would  be  naught.  Every  thing  noble  is  directed  on 
life,  and  this  is.  We  do  not  wish  to  say  pretty  or  curious  things, 
or  to  reiterate  a  few  propositions  in  varied  forms,  but,  if  we  can, 
to  give  expression  to  that  spirit  which  lifts  men  to  a  higher  plat 
form,  restores  to  them  the  religious  sentiment,  brings  them  worthy 
aims  and  pure  pleasures,  purges  the  inward  eye,  makes  life  less 
desultory,  and,  through  raising  man  to  the  level  of  nature,  takes 
away  its  melancholy  from  the  landscape,  and  reconciles  the  practi 
cal  with  the  speculative  powers. 

"  But  perhaps  we  are  telling  our  little  story  too  gravely.  There 
are  always  great  arguments  at  hand  for  a  true  action,  even  for  the 
writing  of  a  few  pages.  There  is  nothing  but  seems  near  it,  and 
prompts  it,  —  the  sphere  in  the  ecliptic,  the  sap  in  the  apple-tree,  — 
every  fact,  every  appearance,  seem  to  persuade  to  it. 

"  Our  means  correspond  with  the  ends  we  have  indicated.  As 
we  wish,  not  to  multiply  books,  but  to  report  life,  our  resources  are 
not  so  much  the  pens  of  practiced  writers,  as  the  discourse  of  the 
living,  and  the  portfolios  which  friendship  has  opened  to  us.  From 


THE   DIAL.  83 

the  beautiful  recesses  of  private  thought ;  from  the  experience  and 
hope  of  spirits  which  are  withdrawing  from  all  old  forms,  and 
seeking  in  all  that  is  new  somewhat  to  meet  their  inappeasable 
longings ;  from  the  secret  confession  of  genius  afraid  to  trust  itself 
to  aught  but  sympathy ;  from  the  conversation  of  fervid  and 
mystical  pietists ;  from  tear-stained  diaries  of  sorrow  and  passion ; 
from  the  manuscripts  of  young  poets ;  and  from  the  records  of 
youthful  taste  commenting  on  old  works  of  art,  —  we  hope  to  draw 
thoughts  and  feelings  which,  being  alive,  can  impart  life. 

"  And  so  with  diligent  hands  and  good  intent  we  set  down  our 
Dial  on  the  earth.  We  wish  it  may  resemble  that  instrument  in 
its  celebrated  happiness,  that  of  measuring  no  hours  but  those  of 
sunshine.  Let  it  be  one  cheerful  rational  voice  amidst  the  din  of 
mourners  and  polemics.  Or,  to  abide  by  our  chosen  image,  let  it  be 
such  a  dial,  not  as  the  dead  face  of  a  clock,  —  hardly,  even,  such  as 
the  gnomon  in  a  garden,  —  but  rather  such  a  Dial  as  is  the  Garden 
itself  in  whose  leaves  and  flowers  and  fruits  the  suddenly  awakened 
sleeper  is  instantly  apprised,  not  what  part  of  dead  time,  but  what 
state  of  life  and  growth,  is  now  arrived  and  arriving.*' 


As  Emerson  suggests,  The  Dial  originated  in  the 
hopes  of  the  young.  Alcott  was  the  only  one  of  its 
projectors  and  contributors  who  had  reached  the  age  of 
forty  when  the  first  number  appeared.  Ripley  was 
thirty-eight ;  Emerson,  thirty-seven  ;  and  Hedge,  thirty 
five.  Margaret  Fuller,  Parker,  W.  H.  Charming,  and 
Clarke  were  thirty  ;  Bartol,  Cranch,  and  D  wight, 
twenty-seven ;  while  Thoreau  was  but  twenty-three, 
and  W.  E.  Channing  twenty -two. 

A  chief  contributor  to  The  Dial,  especially  during  the 
first  two  years,  was  Margaret  Fuller,  who  furnished 
papers  on  Critics,  Goethe,  the  Great  Composers,  Klop- 
stock  and  Meta,  Festus,  and  a  few  other  sketches.  In 
Parker's  contributions  is  to  be  found  some  of  his  best 
work.  He  wrote  on  German  Literature,  the  Pharisees, 
Primitive  Christianity,  and  Dr.  Follen.  Other  subjects 
were,  Truth  against  the  World,  Thoughts  on  Theology, 
Sermon  for  the  Day,  Thoughts  on  Labor,  the  Hollis- 
street  Council.  Ripley  reviewed  Brownson,  and  fur 
nished  the  "  records  of  the  months."  D  wight  gave 
accounts^  of  concerts,  and  wrote  on  the  Religion  of 
Beauty,  and  Ideals  of  E  very-Day  Life.  Cranch  helped 
to  crowd  all  the  numbers  with  poetry,  and  added  a  few 


84  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

prose  contributions.  Hedge  contributed  a  valuable 
paper  on  the  Art  cf  Life  the  Scholar's  Calling,  and 
a  fine  poem,  Questionings.  Clarke  sent  a  poem  on 
crossing  the  Alleghanies,  and  a  letter  about  George 
Keats.  Alcott  furnished  some  Orphic  Sayings,  and  Days 
from  a  Diary.  Thoreau  wrote  about  the  Natural  His 
tory  of  Massachusetts,  and  translated  Pindar,  as  well  as 
the  Prometheus  Bound  of  ^schylus.  In  the  first  vol 
ume  were  three  of  his  poems,  in  the  second  two,  in  the 
third  sixteen,  and  in  the  fourth  five.  In  one  number 
appeared  three  sonnets  by  Lowell,  and  Charles  A.  Dana 
was  a  frequent  poetical  contributor.  Henry  Tuckerman 
furnished  a  paper  on  Music,  Mrs.  George  Rij  ley  one  on 
Woman,  and  Elizabeth  Peabody  two  on  Christ's  Idea  of 
Society.  Beside  these,  there  were  several  other  writers, 
but  perhaps  none  known  to  fame. 

The  Dial  was  the  means  of  introducing  Thoreau  to 
the  public.  He  furnished  a  poem  to  the  first  number, 
and  scarcely  a  number  followed  that  did  not  contain 
one  or  more  contributions  from  his  pen.  His  first  prose 
production  given  to  the  public,  reprinted  as  -the  first 
paper  of  the  Excursions,  was  in  the  third  volume ;  and 
in  the  fourth  volume  appeared  his  Walk  in  Winter. 
Thoreau  owed  to  Emerson  his  introduction  to  literature, 
who  seems  to  have  given  him  every  encouragement.  In 
the  last  volume  appeared  a  remarkable  article  by  Mar 
garet  Fuller,  entitled  The  Great  Lawsuit ;  Man  versus 
Men  —  Woman  versus  Women.  It  was  afterwards  re 
vised  and  enlarged,  and  issued  in  book-form  as  Woman 
in  the  Nineteenth  Century.  It  is  one  of  the  best  works 
yet  printed  on  the  opportunities  and  duties  of  women. 
The  Notes  from  the  Journal  of  a  Scholar  were  by 
Charles  Emerson.  These  were  printed  in  the  first  vol 
ume  and  in  the  last.  They  are  full  of  subtle  power, 
and  gave  great  promise  of 'better  things.  In  the  first 
number  also  appeared  a  poem  by  Edward  Bliss  Emerson. 
It  was  written  while  going  put  of  Boston  Harbor,  on 
the  voyage  fn  in  which  the  a'uthor  never  returned.  It 
is  called  The  Last  Farewell,  and  was  reprinted  in  Emer 
son's  May-Day. 


THE   DIAL.  85 

During  the  two  years  Margaret  Fuller  edited  The 
Dial  she  was  assisted  by  George  Ripley  and  R.  W.  Em 
erson.  Owing  to  the  state  of  her  health,  she  withdrew 
from  it  at  the  end  rf  the  second  year ;  and  Emerson 
became  the  sole  editor.  Under  his  management  its 
character  changed  considerably,  becoming  less  literary 
and  more  reformatory.  He  wrote  011  Fouiierism  and 
the  Socialists,  showing  a  hearty  sympathy  with  their 
efforts.  In  this  first  number,  edited  by  him,  is  a  very 
interesting  account  of  the  Chardon-street  and  Bible 
Conventions ;  and  in  the  second  number  he  writes  with 
enthusiasm  of  an  English  reformer,  Greaves,  a  sort  of 
second  Alcott.  The  first  number  of  the  third  volume 
also  begins  a  series  of  selections  from  the  great  bibles 
of  the  world,  made  by  Emerson,  Thoreau,  and  others. 
Probably  this  was  the  first  effort  to  bring  to  the  notice 
of  Americans  the  wisdom  and  the  beauties  of  other 
scriptures  than  those  cf  the  Hebrews  and  Christians. 
It  was  a  most  notable  indication  of  the  spirit  and  temper 
of  Emerson's  thought.  The  first  selection  is  introduced 
with  these  words  :  — 

"  Each  nation  has  its  bible,  more  or  less  pure  :  none  has  yet  been 
willing  or  able  in  a  wise  and  devout  spirit  to  collate  its  own  with 
those  of  other  nations,  and,  sinking  the  civil-historical  and  the  ritual 
portions,  to  bring  together  the  grand  expressions  of  the  moral  senti 
ment  in  different  ages  and  races,  the  rules  for  the  guidance  of  life, 
the  bursts  of  piety  and  of  abandonment  to  the  Invisible  and  Eter 
nal,  —  a  work  inevitable  sooner  or  later,  and  which,  we  hope,  is  to 
be  done  by  religion  and  not  by  literature." 

Likewise  in  this  number  is  an  article  on  Prayers, 
consisting  mainly  of  several  remarkable  specimens  of 
this  kind  of  literature.  It  was  written  by  Emerson,1 

1  This  article  was  found  among  Thoreau's  papers  after  his  death,  in 
his  o>vn  handwriting,  and  was  printed  by  his  sister  in  his  Anti-Slavery 
and  Reform  Papers.  Thoreau  was  the  author  of  the  poetical  prayer  in 
this  article,  beginning  with  the  words,  — 

"  Great  God,  I  ask  thee  for  no  meaner  pelf 
Than  that  I  may  not  disappoint  myself." 

It  may  also- be  noted  here,  on  the  authority  of  Mr.  Alcott,  that  Thoreau, 
in  Emerson's  absence,  was  the  editor  of  No.  3  of  the  third  volume  of 
The  Dial. 


86  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

and  gives  broad  hint  of  his  deep  sympathy  with  every 
true  form  of  the  spirit  of  devotion  and  faith.  He  intro« 
duces  the  selections  he  makes  with  these  words :  — 

"  Pythagoras  said  that  the  time  when  men  are  honestest,  is  when 
they  present  themselves  before  the  gods.  If  we  can  overhear  the 
prayer,  we  shall  know  the  man.  But  prayers  are  not  made  to  be 
overheard,  or  to  be  printed ;  so  that  we  seldom  have  tbo  prayer 
otherwise  than  it  can  be  inferred  from  the  man  and  his  fortunes, 
which  are  the  answer  to  the  prayer,  and  always  accord  with  it.  Yet 
there  are  scattered  about  in  the  earth  a  few  records  of  these  devout 
hours,  which  it  would  edify  us  to  read,  could  they  be  collected  in  a 
more  catholic  spirit  than  the  wretched  and  repulsive  volumes  which 
usurp  that  name.  Let  us  not  have  the  prayers  of  one  sect,  nor  of 
the  Christian  church,  but  of  men  in  all  ages  and  religions,  who 
have  prayed  well.  The  prayer  of  Jesus  is,  as  it  deserves,  become  a 
form  for  the  human  race." 

Emerson's  three  Lectures  on  the  Times,  and  those 
on  Man  the  Reformer,  and  the  Young  American,  were 
republished  from  The  Dial  in  his  Miscellanies.  The 
Thoughts  on  Art,  in  the  third  number  of  the  first  vol 
ume,  is  the  essay  on  Art  in  Society  and  Solitude.  An 
essay  on  The  Comic,  in  the  fourth  volume,  appears  in 
Letters  and  Social  Aims,  after  more  than  thirty  years. 
In  the  same  volume  is  an  essay  on  The  Tragic,  which 
is  probably  from  his  pen ;  while  the  short  piece,  bearing 
the  title  of  Tantalus,  was  incorporated  into  the  essay 
on  Nature,  in  the  second  series  of  Essays.  The  poem 
in  the  second  volume,  The  Future  is  Better  than  the 
Past,  has  often  been  reprinted  as  Emerson's,  and  has 
found  its  way  into  several  hymn-books ;  but  it  was 
written  by  one  of  his  brothers.  Papers  on  Walter  Sav 
age  Landor,  Thought*  on  Modern  Literature,  The  Senses 
and  the  Soul,  Europe  and  European  Books,  have  never 
been  reprinted.  Some  of  his  very  best  words  about 
books  are  contained  in  the  essay  on  modern  literature. 
He  regards  life  as  of  the  main  importance,  however, 
and  books  only  as  secondary.  A.  true  literature  will 
do  no  more  than  to  record  necessary  laws ;  but  when 
we  trust  to  the  books,  and  not  to  that  from  whence 
they  come,  they  do  us  injury.  "We  must  learn  to 
judge  books  by  absolute  standards.  When  we  are 


THE   DIAL.  87 

aroused  to  a  life  in  ourselves,  these  traditional  splendors 
of  letters  grow  very  pale  and  cold."  He  says  that 
"over  every  true  poem  lingers  a  certain  wild  beauty, 
immeasurable  ;  a  happiness  lightsome  and  delicious  fills 
the  heart  and  brain,  —  as  they  say,  every  man  walks 
environed  by  his  proper  atmosphere,  extending  to  some 
distance  around  him."  The  closing  paragraphs  of  this 
essay  are  among  the  most  eloquent  he  has  ever  written :  — 

"  The  Doctrine  of  the  Life  of  Man  established  after  the  truth 
through  all  his  faculties,  —  this  is  the  thought  which  the  literature 
of  this  hour  meditates  and  labors  to  say.  This  is  that  which  tunes 
the  tongue  and  fires  the  eye  and  sits  in  the  silence  of  the  youth. 
Verily,  it  will  not  long  want  articulate  and  melodious  expression. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  heart  but  comes  presently  to  the  lips.  The 
very  depth  of  the  sentiment,  which  is  the  author  of  all  the  cutane 
ous  life  we  see,  is  guaranty  for  the  riches  of  science  and  of  song  in 
the  age  to  come.  He  who  doubts  whether  this  age  or  this  country 
can  yield  any  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  world,  only 
betrays  his  own  blindness  to  the  necessities  of  the  human  soul. 
Has  the  power  of  poetry  ceased,  or  the  need?  Have  the  eyes 
ceased  to  see  that  which  they  would  have,  and  which  they  have 
not  ?  Have  they  ceased  to  see  other  eyes  ?  Are  there  no  lonely, 
anxious,  wondering  children  who  must  tell  their  tale?  Are  we 
not  evermore  whipped  by  thoughts?  The  heart  beats  in  this  age 
as  of  old,  and  the  passions  are  busy  as  ever.  Nature  has  not  lost 
one  ringlet  of  her  beauty,  one  impulse  of  resistance  and  valor. 
From  the  necessity  of  loving,  none  are  exempt ;  and  he  that  loves 
must  utter  his  desires.  A  charm  as  radiant  as  beauty  ever  beamed, 
a  love  that  fainteth  at  the  sight  of  its  object,  is  new  to-day. 

"  Man  is  not  so  far  lost  but  that  he  suffers  ever  the  great  dis 
content,  which  is  the  elegy  of  his  loss  and  the  prediction  of  his 
recovery;  In  the  gay  saloon  he  laments  that  these  figures  are  not 
what  Raphael  and  Guercino  painted.  Withered  though  he  stand, 
and  trifler  though  he  be,  the  august  spirit  of  the  world  looks  out 
from  his  eyes.  In  his  heart  he  knows  the  ache  of  spiritual  pain, 
and  his  thought  can  animate  the  sea  and  land.  What,  then,  shall 
hinder  the  genius  of  the  time  from  speaking  its  thought  ?  It  can 
not  be  silent  if  it  would.  It  will  write  in  a  higher  spirit,  and  a 
wider  knowledge,  and  with  a  grander  practical  aim,  than  ever  yet 
guided  the  pen  of  poet.  It  will  write  the  annals  of  a  changed 
world,  and  record  the  descent  of  -  principles  into  practice,  of  love 
into  government,  of  love  into  trade.  It  will  describe  the  new 
heroic  life  of  man,  the  now  unbelieved  possibility  of  simple  living, 
and  of  clean  and  noble  relations  with  men.  Religion  will  bind 
again  these  that  were  sometimes  frivolous,  customary,  enemies, 
skeptics,  self-seekers,  into  a  joyous  reverence  for  the  circumambi 
ent  Whole,  and  that  which  was  ecstasy  shall  became  daily  bread." 


88  RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON. 

In  the  fourth  volume  he  wrote  of  Carlyle's  Past  and 
Present,  and  says  it  is  a  political  tract  with  which  we 
have  nothing  to  compare  since  Milton  and  Burke. 
"  Obviously,  lie  says,  it  is  the  book  of  a  powerful  and 
accomplished  thinker ;  "  and  "  it  is  such  an  appeal  to  the 
conscience  and  honor  of  England  as  can  not  be  forgotten, 
or  be  feigned  to  be  forgotten." 

"  When  the  political  aspects  are  so  calamitous  that  the  sympa 
thies  of  the  man  overpower  the  habits  of  the  poet,  a  higher  than 
literary  inspiration  may  succor  him.  It  is  a  costly  proof  of  charac 
ter,  that  the  most  renowned  scholar  of  England  should  take  his 
reputation  in  his  hand,  and  should  descend  into  the  ring ;  and  he 
has  added  to  his  love  whatever  honor  his  opinions  may  forfeit. 
To  atone  for  this  departure  from  the  vows  of  the  scholar  and  his 
eternal  duties,  to  this  secular  charity,  we  have  at  least  this  gain, 
that  here  is  a  message  which  those  to  whom  it  was  addressed  can 
not  choose  but  hear." 

He  says  that  "  Carlyle  is  the  first  domestication  of 
the  modern  system  with  its  infinity  of  details  into 
style."  All  the  vast  and  multifarious  movements  of 
our  present  civilization  are  best  represented  in  Carlyle ; 
for  "  London  and  Europe  tunneled,  graded,  corn-lawed, 
with  trade-nobility,  and  East  and  West  Indies  for  de 
pendencies  ;  and  America,  with  the  Rocky  Hills  in  the 
horizon,  have  never  before  been  conquered  in  litera 
ture."  Of  the  faults  in  the  book  he  writes  these 
words :  — 

"  We  may  easily  fail  in  expressing  the  general  objection  which 
we  feel.  It  appears  to  us  as  a  certain  disproportion  in  the  picture, 
caused  by  the  obtrusion  of  the  whims  of  the  painter.  In  this  work, 
as  in  his  former  labors,  Mr.  Carlyle  reminds  us  of  a  sick  giant. 
His  humors  are  expressed  with  so  much  force  of  constitution  that 
his  fancies  are  more  attractive  and  more  credible  than  the  sanity 
of  duller  men.  Uut  the  habitual  exaggeration  of  the  tone  wearies 
whilst  it  stimulates.  It  is  felt  to  be  so  much  deduction  from  the 
universality  of  the  picture.  It  is  not  serene  sunshine,  but  cvory 
thing  is  seen  in  lurid  stormlights.  Every  object  attitudinizes,  to 
the  very  mountains,  and  stars  almost,  under  the  refractions  of  this 
wonderful  humorist;  and  instead  of  the  common  earth  and  sky,  we 
have  a  Martin's  Creation  or  Judgment  Day." 

Emerson  was  also  a  frequent  contributor  of  poetry  to 
The  Dial.  Many  of  his  very  best  pieces  first  appeared 


THE   DIAL.  89 

in  its  pages.  He  there  printed  The  Problem,  Wood- 
notes,  The  Sphinx,  Saadi,  To  Rhea,  Ode  to  Beauty,  and 
The  Visit.  His  other  poetical  contributions  were  Paint 
ing  and  Sculpture,  Fate,  Fact,  Holidays,  Eros,  The 
Times,  Forbearance,  The  Amulet,  To  Eva,  Suum 
Cuique,  and  The  Park. 

The  Dial  put  forth  a  good  deal  of  vaporing  and  senti- 
mentalism.  Much  that  was  crnde  went  into  its  pages ; 
and  some  of  its  writers  lacked  solid  regard  for  facts 
and  realities.  Yet  it  was  a  most  notable  effort  toward  a 
truer  life  and  a  fresher  expression  of  thought.  Its  pages 
betray  a  purpose  and  a  hope  no  other  American  review 
has  yet  shown,  and  its  influence  has  doubtless  been 
very  great.  Emerson  has  written  of  it  with  sound 
sense,1  giving  interesting  hints  of  its  purpose.  He  says 
that  "  when  it  began,  it  concentrated  a  good  deal  of  hope 
and  affection." 

"  It  had  its  origin  in  a  club  of  speculative  students,  who  found 
the  air  in  America  getting  a  little  too  close  and  stagnant ;  and  the 
agitation  had,  perhaps,  the  fault  of  being  too  secondary  and  bookish 
in  its  origin,  or  caught,  not  from  primary  instincts,  but  from  Eng 
lish,  and  still  more  from  German,  books.  Tho  journal  was  com 
menced  with  much  hope,  and  liberal  promises  of  many  co-operators. 
But  the  workmen  of  sufficient  culture  for  a  poetical  and  philo 
sophical  magazine  were  too  few ;  and  as  the  pages  were  filled  by 
unpaid  contributors,  each  of  whom  had,  according  to  the  usage  and 
necessity  of  this  country,  some  paying  employment,  the  journal  did 
not  get  his  best  work,  but  his  second  best.  Its  scattered  writers 
had  not  digested  their  theories  into  a  distinct  dogma,  still  less  into 
a  practical  measure  which  the  public  could  grasp ;  and  the  maga 
zine  was  so  eclectic  and  miscellaneous  that  each  of  its  readers  and 
writers  valued  only  a  small  portion  of  it.  For  these  reasons  it 
never  had  a  large  circulation,  and  it  was  discontinued  after  four 
years.  But  The  Dial  betrayed,  through  all  its  juvenility,  timidity, 
and  conventional  rubbish,  some  sparks  of  the  true  love  and  hope, 
and  of  the  piety  to  spiritual  law,  which  had  moved  its  friends  and 
founders ;  and  it  was  received  by  its  early  subscribers  with  almost 
a  religious  welcome.  Many  years  after  it  was  brought  to  a  close, 
Margaret  was  surprised  in  England  by  very  warm  testimony  to  its 
merits ;  and  in  1848  the  writer  of  these  pages  found  it  holding  the 
same  affectionate  place  in  many  a  private  book-shelf  in  England 
and  Scotland  which  it  had  secured  at  home.  Good  or  bad,  it  cost 
a  good  deal  of  precious  labor  from  those  who  served  it,  and  from 

1  Memoirs  of  Margaret  Fuller. 


90  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

Margaret  most  of  all.  As  editor,  she  received  a  compensation  for 
the  first  years,  which  was  intended  to  be  two  hundred  dollars  per 
annum,  but  which,  I  fear,  never  reached  that  amount. 

"  But  it  made  no  difference  to  her  exertion.  She  put  so  much 
heart  into  it  that  she  bravely  undertook  to  open,  in  The  Dial,  the 
subjects  which  most  attracted  her ;  and  she  treated,  in  turn,  Goethe 
and  Beethoven,  the  Rhine  and  the  Romaic  Ballads,  the  Poems  of 
John  Sterling,  and  several  pieces  of  sentiment,  with  a  spirit  which 
spared  no  labor;  and  when  the  hard  conditions  of  journalism  held 
her  to  an  inevitable  -day,  she  submitted  to  jeopardizing  a  long- 
cherished  subject  by  treating  it  in  the  crude  and  forced  article  for 
the  month.  I  remember,  after  she  had  been  compelled  by  ill-health 
to  relinquish  the  journal  into  my  hands,  my  grateful  wonder  at  the 
facility  with  which  she  assumed  the  preparation  of  laborious  arti 
cles  that  might  have  daunted  the  most  practiced  scribe." 

He  has  always  spoken  of  it  in  the  same  modest  man 
ner,  giving  to  others  whatever  honor  and  fame  the 
quarterly  has  produced.  In  fact,  he  was  its  chief  con 
tributor,  its  trusted  adviser,  from  the  first ;  and  he  did 
far  more  than  any  other  to  give  it  whatever  of  value  and 
influence  it  had.  With  all  its  vaporing,  it  was  fresh, 
earnest,  and  original  in  purpose.  It  was  the  first 
American  periodical  to  assume  a  character  and  aim  of 
its  own.  However  many  its  deficiencies,  spite  of  all  the 
sport  it  gave  the  critics,  its  influence  was  wholesome 
and  vigorous.  It  quickened  thought,  gave  its  writers 
freedom  of  expression,  and  greatly  stimulated  origi 
nality.  The  school  of  writers  which  it  formed  and 
brought  before  the  public  has  been  the  most  productive 
and  helpful  we  have  yet  seen  in  this  country.  Such 
has  been  the  value  of  this  short-lived  quarterly,  it 
already  has  a  fame  and  honor  quite  its  own,  which  are 
likely  to  increase  in  the  future. 


BROOK  FARM  AND  OTHER  REFORMS.       91 


VIII. 

BROOK  FARM  AND  OTHER  REFORMS. 

!  Ij^MERSON  was  greatly  interested  by  the  reforma- 
vJuJ  tory  movements  of  this  period.  It  was  a  time  of 
many  projects  for  the  reformation  of  the  world.  Be 
side  the  agitation  caused  by  the  transcendental  move 
ment,  there  was  a  wide*ferment  of  thought  concerning 
the  social  and  educational  reformation  of  mankind. 
Horace  Mann  was  putting  the  common-school  system 
into  active  operation,  and  normal  schools  were  being 
established  for  the  first  time.  The  temperance  reform 
was  attracting  attention,  and  Pierpont  went  out  of  the 
pulpit  because  the  people  were  not  ready  to  become 
total  abstainers.  Abner  Kneeland  was  preaching  mate 
rialism,  while  Bipley  and  Parker  were  teaching  natural 
ism  in  religion.  Conventions  of  all  kinds  were  being 
held,  newspapers  advocating  all  sorts  of  reforms  and 
new  ideas  appeared.  Among  these  was  the  Non-Resist'- 
ant,  begun  in  Boston  in  1839,  and  edited  by  Garrison, 
Edmund  Quincy,  and  Mrs.  Chapman.  In  1838  George 
Combe  came  to  this  country,  and  unbounded  expec 
tations  were  entertained  in  regard  to  phrenology.  At 
about  the  same  time  spiritualism  began  to  claim  atten 
tion  ;  and  the  keenest  interest  was  taken  in  mesmerism, 
clairvoyance,  and  all  kindred  subjects.  Homoeopathy, 
hydropathy,  the  Graham  diet,  and  the  Thompsonian 
cure,  all  came  up  for  their  share  in  the  regeneration  of 
the  race.  \  The  first  national  temperance  convention 
was  held  in  1833,  and  in  1838  a  prohibitory  law  was 
passed  in  Massachusetts.  In  1840  the  American  Anti- 
slavery  Society  split  in  two,  because  women  demanded 
an  opportunity  to  speak  on  its  platform.  Soon  after,  a 
woman's  convention  was  called.  The  New- York  Trib- 


92  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

une  became  the  open  door  for  the  entrance  of  all  these 
new  ideas  to  the  public.  In  the  midst  of  these  refor 
mations  and  dreams  appeared,  in  1839,  a  prophet  to 
declare  the  end  of  all  things,  in  the  person  of  William 
Miller. 

Nearly  every  one  of  Emerson's  intimate  friends  was 
connected  with  these  reforms.  Parker  was  just  begin 
ning  to  agitate  the  theological  waters.  Thoreau  pro 
tested  against  taxes,  and  was  lodged  in  jail.  A  little 
later  he  went  to  live  by  the  side  of  Walden  Pond. 
Margaret  Fuller  began  her  wonderful  conversations  in 
Boston ;  Francis,  Hedge,  Clarke,  were  reading  German 
theology,  and  giving  expression  to  a  more  living  re 
ligious  faith.  Alcott  had  left  Ris  Temple  School,  gone 
to  Concord  at  Emerson's  request,  and  was  living  by 
manual  labor.  Such  was  Emerson's  interest  in  the 
work  of  reform,  that,  almost  immediately  after  the  death 
of  his  oldest  son,  he  filled  a  lecture  engagement  in  New 
York,  that  he  might  aid  Alcott  in  going  to  England, 
there  to  assist  in  establishing  a  school  which  should 
fulfil  the  idea  begun  in  Boston.  Alcott  returned  with 
Charles  Lane,  went  to  Harvard,  established  "  Fruit- 
lands,"  and  aolded  one  more  to  the  attempts  to  redeem 
life  from  its  evils.  To  all  these  movements  Emerson 
gave  his  sympathy,  in  so  far  as  they  expressed  a  genuine 
purpose,  and  showed  a  candid  desire  to  make  life  richer 
with  truth. 

One  of  the  movements  of  this  time,  that  favoring  the 
revitalizing  of  the  old  church  forms  and  doctrines,  was 
well  represented  by  the  Chardon-street  conventions  in 
Boston,  called  by  "  The  Friends  of  Universal  Progress," 
early  in  1840.  Emerson  attended  these  meetings,  was 
appointed  on  the  committees,  but  did  not  speak.  They 
were  called  to  discuss  the  institutions  of  the  sabbath, 
church,  and  ministry.  Edmund  Quincy  was  the  mod 
erator,  and  the  first  meeting  continued  for  three  days. 
Another  was  held  in  March,  and  a  third  in  the  follow 
ing  November,  a  whole  session  being  given  up  to  each 
of  the  topics.  Alcott  found  himself  at  home  there,  and 
Brownson  was  one  of  the  chief  speakers.  Emerson 


BBOOK  FAKM  AND  OTHER  EEFOEMS.       93 

printed  in  TJie  Dial  what  he  regarded  as  the  best  speech 
made,  by  Nathaniel  H.  Whiting,  a  mechanic.  His 
account  of  these  meetings  is  now  full  of  interest :  — 

"  The  composition  of  the  assembly  was  rich  and  various.  The 
singularity  and  latitude  of  the  summons  drew  together,  from  all 
parts  of  New  England,  and  also  from  the  Middle  States,  men  of 
every  shade  of  opinion,  from  the  straightest  orthodoxy  to  the  wildest 
heresy,  and  many  persons  whose  church  was  a  church  of  one  member 
only.  A  great  variety  of  dialect  and  of  costume  was  noticed ;  a 
great  deal  of  confusion,  eccentricity,  and  freak  appeared,  as  well  as 
of  zeal  and  enthusiasm.  If  the  assembly  was  disorderly,  it  was 
picturesque.  Madmen,  madwomen,  men  with  beards,  Drinkers, 
Muggletonians,  Gome-outers,  Groaners,  Agrarians,  Seventh-day- 
Baptists,  Quakers,  Abolitionists,  Calviiiists,  Unitarians,  and  philos 
ophers,  —  all  came  successively  to  the  top,  and  seized  their  moment, 
if  not  their  hour,  wherein  to  chide  or  pray  or  preach  or  protest. 
The  faces  were  a  study.  The  most  daring  innovators,  and  the 
champions-until-death  of  the  old  cause,  sat  side  by  side.  The  still 
living  merit  of  the  oldest  New-England  families,'  glowing  yet  after 
several  generations,  encountered  the  founders. of  families,  fresh 
merit  emerging  and  expanding  the  brows  to  a  new  breadth,  and 
lighting  a  clownish  face  with  sacred  fire.  The  assembly  was  char 
acterized  by  the  predominance  of  a  certain  plain,  sylvan  strength 
and  earnestness  ;  whilst  many  of  the  most  intellectual  and  cultivated 
persons  attended  its  councils.  Dr.  Channing,  Edward  Taylor, 
Bronson  Alcott,  Mr.  Garrison,  Mr.  May,  Theodore  Parker,  II.  C. 
Wright,  Dr.  Osgood.  William  Adams,  Edward  Palmer,  Jones  Very, 
Maria  W.  Chapman,  and  many  other  persons  of  a  mystical  or 
sectarian  or  philanthropic  renown,  were  present,  and  some  of  them 
participant.  And  there  was  no  want  of  female  speakers ;  Mrs. 
Little  and  Mrs.  Lucy  Sessions  took  a  pleasing  and  memorable  part 
in  the  debate ;  and  that  flea  of  conventions,  Mrs.  Abigail  Folsom, 
was  but  too  ready  with  her  interminable  scroll.  If  there  was  not 
parliamentary  order,  there  was  life,  and  the  assurance  of  that  con 
stitutional  love  for  religion  and  religious  liberty  which,  in  all 
periods,  characterizes  the  inhabitants  of  this  part  of  America. 

"  There  was  a  great  deal  of  wearisome  speaking  in  each  of  those 
three-days'  sessions,  but  relieved  by  signal  passages  of  pure  elo 
quence,  by  much  vigor  of  thought,  and  especially  by  the  exhibition 
of  character,  and  by  the  victories  of  character.  These  men  and 
women  were  in  search  of  something  better  and  more  satisfying 
than  a  vote  or  a  definition ;  and  they  found  wThat  they  sought,  or  the 
pledge  of  it,  in  the  attitude  taken  by  individuals  of  their  number, 
of  resistance  to  the  insane  routine  of  parliamentary  usage,  in  the 
lofty  reliance  on  principles,  and  the  prophetic  dignity  and  trans 
figuration  which  accompanies,  even  amidst  opposition  and  ridicule, 
a  man  whose  mind  is  made  up  to  obey  the  great  inward  Com 
mander,  and  who  does  not  anticipate  his  own  action,  but  awaits 
confidently  the  new  emergency  for  the  new  counsel." 


94  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSOX. 

These  meetings  were  but  one  of  many  movements  of 
the  time,  all  looking  towards  a  new  order  of  things. 
The  Brook-Farm  community  was  established  in  1841, 
Hopedale  in  the  same  year,  Northampton  in  1842. 
Communities  were  formed  all  over  the  country.  Owen 
started  New  Harmony,  and  the  world  was  soon  to  be 
redeemed.  Emerson  has  said  that  the  meetings  of  the 
Transcendental  Club  resulted  in  the  society  at  Brook 
Farm,  as  well  as  in  the  publishing  of  The  Dial. 

Its  founders  and  leaders  were  among  Emerson's  inti 
mate  friends.  He  jjfteii  visited  the  iarui,  but  he  did 
.not  sympathize  fully  with  its  purptfses.  It  accepted 
the  doctrines  of  Fourier  in  1844,  and  in  1845  the  teach 
ings  of  Swedenborg  were  eagerly  studied  by  nearly  all 
its  members.  With  the  last  phase  of  this  movement 
Emerson  sympathized  largely,  but  not  so  much  with 
the  first.  He  afterwards  spoke  well  of  Owen  and  Fou 
rier,  and  said  their  conceptions  should  be  gratefully 
appreciated  ;  for  they  who  think  and  hope  well  for  man 
kind,  he  said,  put  the  human  race  under  obligation. 
They  are  the  unconscious  prophets  of  the  true  order  of 
society,  —  men  who  believe  that  in  the  world  God's  jus 
tice  will  be  done.  Yet  he  protested  against  pha.la.nstg- 
lies,  in  favor  of  the  separate  house,  and  declared  it  was 
individualism  men  needed,  rather  than  having  all  things 
in  common.1 

Li  his  lecture  on  Man  the  Reformer,  in  1S41.  lie  spoke 
eloquently  of  manual  labor ;  but  in  this,  as  in  the  open 
ing  lecture  on  The  Times,  the  same  year,  it  was  indi 
vidual  regeneration  he  taught,  saying  that  "  the  reform 
of  reforms  must  be  accomplished  without  means."  In 
1844,  lecturing  on  the  New-England  Reformers,  lie 
inculcates,  as  he  had  constantly,  the  very  opposite  doc 
trine  to  that  of  Fourier.  The  true  union  of  men  with 
each  other, 4w  says,  "must  be  inward,  and  not  one  of 
covenants." 

"I  have  failed,  and  you  have  failed,  but  perhaps  together  we 
shall  not  fail.  Our  housekeeping  is  not  satisfactory  to  us ;  but  per 
haps  a  phalanx,  a  community,  might  be.  .  .  .  This  concert  was 

1  Jn  his  London  lecture  on  Politics  and  Socialism  in  1848. 


BROOK  FARM  AND  OTHER  REFORMS.       95 

the  specific  in  all  cases.  But  concert  is  neither  better  nor  worse, 
neither  more  nor  less  potent,  than  individual  force.  All  the  men 
in  the  world  can  not  make  a  statue  walk  and  speak,  can  not  make  a 
drop  of  blood  or  a  blade  of  grass,  any  more  than  one  man  can. 
But  let  there  be  one  man,  let  there  be  truth  in  two  men,  in  ten 
men,  then  is  concert  for  the  first  time  possible ;  because  the  force 
which  moves  the  world  is  a  new  quality,  and  can  never  be  furnished 
by  adding  whatever  quantities  of  a  different  kind.  What  is  the 
use  of  the  concert  of  the  false  and  the  disunited  ?  There  can  be  no 
concert  in  two,  where  there  is  no  concert  in  one.  When  the  indi 
vidual  is  not  individual,  but  is  dual ;  when  his  thoughts  look  one 
way  and  his  actions  another ;  when  his  faith  is  traversed  by  his 
habits;  when  his  will,  enlightened  by  reason,  is  warped  by  his 
sense ;  when  with  one  hand  he  rows,  and  with  the  other  backs 
water,  —  what  concert  can  be  ?  " 1 

In  another  lecture  he  spoke  strongly  against  bringing 
all  to  the  lowest  level,  as  communism  must  do.  As 
soon  as  the  equality  was  made,  he  said,  it  would  unmake 
itself.  "  Spoons  and  skimmers  you  can  lie  undistin- 
guishably  together,  but -vases  and  statues  require  each 
a  pedestal  for  itself."  2  It  w&s  not,  however,  because  he 
believed  in_mdividualism,  and  in  the  providential  mis 
sion  of  greatmen.  that  he  objected  to  the  Brook-Farm 
method  of  reforming  the  world.  It  was  an.  illumination 
he  felt  menjneeded^  an  inward  seeing  of  the  truth,  a 
wholeness  of.  the  spiritual  life.  Reform  must  commence, 
not  wifli  communities,  but  with  the  individual  soul,  in 
its  harmony  with  itself  and  God.  While  he  saw  much 
that  was  good  in  each  of  these  reforms,  gave  to  them 
his  sympathy,  fully  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  pro 
test  against  old  abuses  and  institutions  that  narrow 
and  hinder,  yet  to  him  they  were  deficient  and  wrong. 
His  demand  was,  that  men  should  trust  in  themselves, 
sit  alone,  and  read  the  laws  of  their  own  natures.  His 
method  was  the  method  of  Jesus,  making  clean  the  in 
ward  life,  seeking  interior  strength  and  renewal.  He 
said  it  is  of  little  moment  that  one  or  two  or  twenty 
social  errors  be  corrected,  but  of  much  importance  that 
man  be  in  his  senses ;  and  the  criticism  of  institutions, 
he  thought,  had  made  it  plain  that  society  gains  noth- 

1  Essays,  second  series,  p.  256. 

2  Willis's  Hurry-graphs;  in  lecture  on  The  Times. 


96  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

ing  whilst  a  man,  not  himself  renovated,  attempts  to 
renovate   things   around  him.1     If  each   individual   is 
faithful  to  his  own  duties,  keeps  inviolate  all  the  laws 
of  the  world,  all  is  well.    -We  must  learn  to  do  right, 
not  because  some  one  else  does,  but  from  our  own  in 
ward   sympathies   for  the   truth.     "  Every  reform.-  was 
once  a  private  opinion ;  ancLwJicn  it  shall  be  a  private 
opinion  again,  it  will  solve  the  .problem  of  the  age."  2     It 
must  be  a  personal  motive,  a  personal  sense  of  truth, 
whickJeads  usjtojlo  rightT  and  not  an  act  .of  conform 
ity.     "Whilst, Tie  saysTT  desire  to  express  the  respect 
and  joy  I  feel  before  this  sublime  connection  of  reforms, 
now  in  their  infancy  around  us,  I  urge  the  more  ear 
nestly  the  paramount  duties  of  self-reliance.     I  can  not 
find  language  of  sufficient  energy  to  convey  my  sense 
of  the  sacredness  of  private  integrity."  3     He_wo-uld  not 
deal  >yj^i^ienjis_^mn,ssnsT"  lmii.^ia...suauL^^Ls  persons. 
The  rude,  unkempt  masses  he  would  separate  into  pure 
and  faithful   individuals,  cadi  capable    of   an    opinion, 
r.  and  equal  to  his  own  destiny.     I  lo  would  not  have  men 
<   herd  together  so  much  as  to  make  them  the  foolish  fol- 
j   lowers  of   a  blind,  common  impulse,  but  would   have 
I   each  person  capable  of  surrendering  all  to  the  call  of 
\  personal   duty.     In   the   spirit   of  the   greatest   moral 
\  teachers,  he  says,  "  I  shun  father  and  mother  and  brother 
land  wife,  when  my  genius  calls  me."     He  would  have 
lall  men  capable  of  like  devotion  and  sacrifice,  capable 
|of  perfect  consecration  to  truth  and  duty. 

Tlie_trnt?  prinoiplo  of  reform  is  to  learn  what  nature 
re^iuiTes,to  obey  her  laws.  "  What  we  call  our  root- 
and-Lranch  "reforms  of  slavery,  war,  gambling,  intemper 
ance,  is  only  medicating  the  symptoms.  \Vc  must  begin 
highexjip,  naiiiely,  in  education."  4  The  ~w±H~TJf  God 
expressed  in  the  invariable  order  and  laws  of  nature, 
that  we  are  to  learn,  that  we  are  to  obey.  This  is  the 
only  true  reform,  the  only  possible  reform.  In  a  most 
eloquent  paragraph  he  has  set  forth  this  idea,  and  it 
reveals  to  us  his  conception  of  the  whole  subject. 

1   Kssavs,  second  series,  p.  252.  2  Essays,  srrcnd  scries,  p.  4. 

3  Miscellanies,  p.  270.  4  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  121. 


BROOK  FARM  AND  OTHER  REFORMS.       97 

"_That  serene  Power  interposes  the  check  upon  the  caprices  and 
pfficiousness  of  our  wills.  Its  charity  is  not  our  charity.  One  of 
its  agents  is  our  will,  but  that  which  expresses  itself  in  our  will  is 
stronger  than  oar  will.  We  are  very  forward  to  help  it,  but  it  will 
not  be  accelerated.  It  resists  our  meddling,  eleemosynary  con 
trivances.  We  desire  sumptuary  and  relief  laws ;  but  the  principle 
of  population  is  always  reducing  wages  to  the  lowest  pittance  on 
which  human  life  can  subsist,  We  legislate  against  forestalling 
and  monopoly ;  we  would  have  a  common  granary  for  the  poor ;  but 
the  selfishness  which  hoards  the  corn  for  high  prices  is  the  preven 
tive  of  famine,  and  the  law  of  self-preservation  is  surer  policy  than 
any  legislation  can  be.  We  concoct  eleemosynary  systems,  and  it 
turns  out  that  our  charity  increases  pauperism.  We  inflate  our 
paper  currency,  we  repair  commerce  with  unlimited  credit,  and  are 
presently  visited  with  unlimited  bankruptcy."1 

He  saw  very  clearly,  also,  that  rude  energy  and  mus 
cle  and^  competition  are  yet  necessary -in  the  world. 
His  criticism  of  such  attempts  as  Brook  Farm,  in  this 
regard,  was  marked  by  practical  wisdom.  The  law  of 
competition  is  important.  ran,  not  aTiywWftTrp-TTiirl 
aside.  '"^Philanthropic  and  religious  bodies  do  not 
cjmimonly  make  their  executive  officers  out  of  saints. 
The  communities  hitherto  founded  by  Socialists  are  only 
possible  by  installing  Judas  as  steward."2  We  have 
learned  this  lesson  so  well  we  no  longer  think  that 
we  are  to  be  charitable  to  whoever  asks,  giving  with 
unstinted  hand  of  our  substance ;  but  we  hold  that 
self-help,  self-reliance,  manhood,  are  to  be  the  ends  of 
our  charitable  intent.  This  was  what  Emerson  preached 
from  the  very  first ;  it  is  the  very  core  of  his  conception 
of  reform. 

There  is  another  side,  however,  to  Emerson's  position 
on  this  subject.  Though  he  says  he  is  bound  to  help 
only  those  for  whom  he  has  an  affinity,3  yet  he  also 
maintains  "  that  none  is  accomplished  so  long  as  any 
are  incomplete ;  that  the  happiness  of  one  can  not  consist 
with  the  misery  of  any  other."4  He  repeats  again  the 
same  sentiment,  "No  one  is  accomplished  whilst  any 
one  is  incomplete.  Weal  does  not  exist  for  one  with 
the  woe  of  any  other."  5 

1  Miscellanies,  p.  362.  2  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  56. 

Essays,  first  series,  p.  45.  4  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  201. 

6  Character,  North  American  Review,  April,  1866,  p.  358. 


98  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

His  distrust  of  j?very  other  method  of  reform  except 
that  of  awakening  the  soul  to  a  sense  of  its  possibilities, 
has  caused  him  to  be  sharply  criticised  for  hatred  of  the 
masses  and  contempt  of  good  institutions.  But  all  such 
criticism  betrays  ignorance  of  his  real  position,  and  an 
inability  to  comprehend  a  method  so  genuine  as  his. 
He  could  only  follow  the  method  of  Jesus,  Socrates, 
and  Buddha,  appealing  to  the  individual,  seeking  to 
voiise^lh ensoul  to  a  knowledge  of  a  higher  life.  Any 
movement,  therefore,  which  had  any  limited  and  tem 
porary  end  in  view,  could  not  win  his  heartiest  admira 
tion.  To  redeem  the  life  of  men,  to  establish  character, 
to  bring  men  into  genuine  relations  with  nature,  them 
selves,  and  God,  was  his  aim. 

He  could  not  give  his  heart  to  the  temperance  cause, 
because  it  only  temporized  with  those  conditions  which 
make  sin  and  misery  in  the  world.  If  men  were  made 
temperate,  they  yet  remained  selfish  and  licentious.  So 
he  would  aim  at  the  very  center  of  all  vice  and  defect, 
dry  up  that  fountain,  and  then  all  the  lesser  evils  would 
cease.  His  method  may  be  wrong,  but  it  is  the  method 
of  every  great  moral  and  religious  teacher  through  the 
ages.  It  made  Jesus  overlook  the  special  sins  of  per 
sons,  because  he  touched  the  seat  of  moral  action,  and 
quickened  life  with  new  purposes.  When  Emerson 
speaks  harshly  against  the  masses,  it  should  be  remem 
bered  he  has  no  dislike  of  the  poor  and  weak,  —  none 
whatever  ;  and  that  his  contempt  is  only  for  those  paltry 
methods  by  which  the  reform  of  the  world  is  sought 
through  an  exterior  assent  to  opinions  or  customs. 
So  it  was  in  regard  to  his  criticism  of  Sunday  schools 
and  other  good  methods  of  education.  Does  he  object 
to  the  Sunday  school?  No;  but  to  that  perfunctory 
morality  and  religion  which  aims  only  at  the  surface, 
and  does  not  transform  the  life  with  character  nor  fill 
the  soul  with  divineness.  lie  early  said  the  reforms 
which  aim  only  at  some  special  object,  and  attempt  to 
cure  some  particular  vice,  "  fair  and  generous  as  each 
appears,  are  poor,  bitter  things,  when  prosecuted  for 
themselves  as  an  end."  1 

i  Miscellanies,  p.  206. 


BROOK  FARM  AND  OTHER  REFORMS.       99 

Several  of  the  reforms  of  recent  years  have  attracted 
his  attention  and  admiration,  and  he  has  expressed  great 
faith  in  them.  He  sees  in  them  signs  of  that  new 
religious  era  when  life  and  ethical  power  will  rule  the 
world  in  the  place  of  creed  and  ritual.  He  signed,  with 
his  wife,  the  call  for  the  first  woman's-suffrage  conven 
tion,  and  attended  its  meetings.  With  this  movement 
he  has  sympathized  heartily.  His  intense  interest  in 
the  new  philanthropic  spirit,  —  from  which  he  hopes  so 
much,  and  which  he  lieralds  as  the  sign  of  a  new  and 
wonderful  development  of  human  culture, —  he  has 
expressed  in  this  paragraph  from  his  address  on  the 
Progress  of  Culture  :  — 

"  Observe  the  marked  ethical  quality  of  the  innovations  urged  or 
adopted.  The  new  claim  of  woman  to  a  political  status  13  itself 
an  honorable  testimony  to  the  civilization  which  has  given  her  a 
civil  status  new  in  history.  Now  that,  by  the  increased  humanity 
of  law,  she  controls  property,  she  inevitably  takes  the  next  step 
to  her  share  in  power.  The  war  gave  us  the  abolition  of  slavery, 
the  success  of  the  Sanitary  Commission  and  of  iho  Freedman's 
Bureau.  Add  to  these  the  new  scope  of  social  science;  the  aboli 
tion  of  capital  punishment  and  of  imprisonment  for  debt ;  the 
improvement  of  prisons ;  the  efforts  for  the  .suppression  of  intem 
perance  ;  the  search  for  just  rules  affecting  labor ;  the  co-operative 
societies;  the  insurance  of  life  arid  limb;  the  free-trade  league; 
the  improved  almshouse ;  the  enlarged  ccale  of  charities  to  relieve 
local  famine,  or  burned  towns,  or  the  suffering  Greeks ;  the  incipi 
ent  series  of  International  Congresses,  —  all,  one  may  say,  in  a  high 
degree  revolutionary,  —  teaching  nations  the  taking  of  government 
into  their  own  hands,  and  superseding  kings." 

>  Emerson's  sense  of  humor  has  always  been  a  restrain- 
/Ung  and  sanitary  influence  in  his  character.  He  saw  the 
ridiculous,  the  incongruous,  side  of  Brook  Farm ;  and 
his  humor,  his  rare  perception  of  the  fitness  of  things, 
led  him  to  see  that  finely  conceived  reform  in  its  real 
light.  He  loved  the  ineji_-aB4— women  who  lived  at 
Brook  Farm;  ho  thoroughly  sympathized  with  their 
anxious  desire  to  make  life  better  ;  but  he  saw  the  folly 
of  their  experiment,  its  weaknesses,  and  he  quickly  dis 
covered  the"evils  which  it  fostered  in  place  of  those  it 
attempted  to  escape.  In  the  second  number  of  the 
fourth  volume  of  The  Dial,  he  printed  a  letter  in 


100  EALPII    AVALDO    EMEESOX. 

answer  to  several  correspondents.  One  of  these  hud 
questioned  him  concerning  the  common  defects  in  cul 
ture  and  life  ;  and  his  answer  is  marked  by  that  closely- 
veiled  humor  and  that  strong  common  sense  so  notable 
in  his  character. 

"  Regrets  and  Bohemian  air-castles  and  aesthetic  villages,  he  say?, 
are  not  a  very  s  '[['-helping  ela.-s  of  productions,  but  are  the  voices 
ol  debility,  Lspeeialiy  to  an  importunate  correspondent  we  mu.  t 
say  that  there  is  no  chance  tor  the  resihetic  village.  Lvery  r.;ie  of 
the  villagers  has  committed  his  several  blunder:  his  genii:  wafl 
good,  his  stars  consenting,  but  lie  was  a  marplot.  And  tiicugh  tl.e 
recuperative  force  iu  every  man  may  be  relied  on  infinitely,  ir  must 
be  relied  on  before  it  will  exert  itself.  As  long  as  he  B~I<: 
the  shade  of  the  present  error,  the  after-nature  does  not  betray  i<s 
resources.  YThilst  he  dwells  in  the  old  sin,  he  will  pay  the"  old 
fine." 

In  December,  1847,  appeared  the  first  number  of  The 
Massachusetts  Quarterly  Itcrietr.  with  Emeiv -on's  name 
as  one  of  the  editors.  Parker  was  its  originator,  as  he 
was  its  real  editor  for  the  three  years  of  it .;  exL-tem  e. 
Emerson  wrote  nothing  for  it  beyond  its  address  To 
the  Public  in  the  first  number.  Alter  speaking  of  the 
great  material  improvements  in  the  country,  lie  says  the 
spiritual  powers  of  man  have1  not  pivgiv.-:-ed  equally 
far.  and  that  the  new  world  offers  no  new  thought. 

"  Conceding  these  unfavorable  appearances.  IK>  proceed.;  to  say.  it 
\vould  yet  be  a  poor  pedantry  to  read  the  fates  of  this,  country  m  :u 
these  uaiTow  data.  On  the  contrary ,  we  are  persuaded  that  moral 
and  material  values  are  always  commensurate.  Lverv  material 
organization  exists  to  a  moral  end,  which  makes  the  reason  of  its 
existence.  Here  are  no  books;  but  who  can  see  the  continei.t, 
with  its  inland  and  surrounding  waters,  hs  temperate  elinu; 
vpesi  v.  ird  breathing  vigor  throughout  all  the  year,  its  conlluence  of 
races  BO  favorable  to  the  hLL  .v,  and  the  iulinite  glut  -..i 

their  production,  without  putting  new  queries  to  Destiny,  as  to  the 
purpose  for  which  this  muster  of  nations  and  this  sudden  creation 
Tiiious  values  is  made? 

"This  is  equally  the  view  of  science  and  of  patriotism.  We 
h.-sitate  to  employ  a  word  so  much  abused  as  nu'riotiiwi,  wlu 
sense  is  almost  the  reverse  of  it<  popular  >eu-e.  \\'e  have  no 
sympathy  with  that  boyish  egotism,  hoarse  with  cheering  for  rur 
side,  for  our  state,  for  our  town;  the  right  patriotism  consists  in 
the  delight  which  springs  from  contributing  our  peculiar  and  legiti- 


BROOK  FARM   AND   OTHER  .REFORMS,,,  101 

mate  advantages  to  the  benefit  of  humanity.  Every  foot  of  soil 
has  its  proper  quality ;  the  grape  on  two  sides  of  the  same  fence 
has  new  flavors;  and  so  every  acre  on  the  globe, -every  family 
of  men,  every  point  of  climate,  has  its  distinguishing  virtues. 
Certainly,  then,  this  country  does  not  lie  here  in  the  sun  causeless  ; 
and  though  it  may  not  be  easy  to  define  its  influence,  men  feel 
already  its  emancipating  quality  in  the  careless  self-reliance  of  the 
manners,  in  the  freedom  of  thought,  in  the  direct  roads  by  which 
grievances  are  reached  and  redressed,  and  even  in  the  reckless  and 
sinister  politics,  not  less  than  in  purer 'expressions.  Bad  as  it  is, 
this  freedom  leads  onward  and  upward  to  a  Columbia  of  thought 
and  art  which  is  the  last  and  endless  end  of  Columbus's  adven 
ture." 

After  a  severe  criticism  of  the  political  affairs  of  the  nation,  he 

Eroceeds,  "  The  state,  like  the  individual,  should  rest  on  an  ideal 
asis.  Xot  only  man,  but  nature,  is  injured  by  the  imputation 
that  man  exists  only  to  be  fattened  with  bread ;  but  he  lives  in 
such  connection  with  Thought  and  Fact  that  his  bread  is  surely 
involved  as  one  element  thereof,  but  is  not  its  end  and  ainu  So 
the  insight  which  commands  the  laws  and  conditions  of  the  true 
polity  precludes  for  ever  all  interest  in  the  squabbles  of  parties. 
As  soon  as  men  have  the  enjoyments  of  learning,  friendship,  and 
virtue,  for  which  the  state  exists,  the  prizes  of  office  appear  pol 
luted,  and  their  followers  outcasts. 

"  A  journal  that  would  meet  the  real  wants  of  this  time  must 
have  a  courage  and  power  sufficient  to  solve  the  problems  which 
the  great  groping  society  around  us,  stupid  with  perplexity,  is 
dumbly  exploring.  Let  us  not  show  its  astuteness  by  dodging 
each  difficult  question,  and  arguing  diffusely  every  point  on  which 
men  are  long  ago  unanimous.  Can  it  front  this  matter  of  social 
ism,  to  which  the  names  of  Owen  and  Fourier  have  attached,  and 
dispose  of  that  question  ?  Will  it  cope  with  the  allied  questions  of 
government,  non-resistance,  and  all  that  belongs  under  that  category  ? 
Will  it  measure  itself  with  the  chapter  of  slavery,  in  some  sort  the 
special  enigma  of  the  time,  as  it  has  provoked  against  it  a  sort  of 
inspiration  and  enthusiasm  singular  in  modern  history?  There 
are  literary  and  philosophical  reputations  to  settle.  The  name  of 
Swedenborg  has  in  this  very  time  acquired  new  honors ;  and  the 
current  year  has  witnessed  the  appearance,  in  their  first  English 
translation,  of  his  manuscripts.  Here  is  an  unsettled  account  in 
the  book  of  fame ;  a  nebula  to  dun  eyes,  but  which  great  tele 
scopes  may  yet  resolve  into  a  magnificent  system.  Here  is  the 
standing  problem  of  Xatural  Science,  and  the  merits  of  her  great 
interpreters,  to  be  determined ;  the  encyclopedical  Humboldt,  and 
the  intrepid  generalizations  collected  by  the  author  of  the  Vextiges 
of  Creation. 

"  What  will  easily  seem  to  many  a  far  higher  question  than  any 
other  is  that  which  respects  the  embodying  of  the  conscience  of  the 
period.  Is  the  age  we  live  in  unfriendly  to  the  highest  powers,  to 
that  blending  of  the  affections  with  the  poetic  faculty  which  has  dis- 


102  EALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

tinguished  the  religious  ages  ?  We  have  a  better  opinion  of  the 
economy  of  nature  than  to  fear  that  those  varying  phases  which 
humanity  presents  ever  leave  out  any  of  the  grand  springs  of 
human  action.  Mankind,  for  the  moment,  seem  to  be  in  search  of 
a  religion.  The  Jewish  cult  us  is  declining;  the  divine,  or,  as  some 
will  say,  the  truly  human,  hovers,  now  seen,  now  unseen,  before  us. 
This  period  of  peace,  this  hour  when  the  jangle  of  contending 
churches  is  hushing  or  hushed,  v.ill  seem  only  the  more  propitious 
to  those  who  believe  that  man  need  not  .fear  the  want  of  religion, 
because  they  know  his  religious  constitution, —  that  he  must  rest 
on  the  moral  and  religious  sentiments,  as  the  motion  of  bodies  rests 
on  geometry.  In  the  rapid  decay  of  what  was  called  religion,  timid 
and  unthinking  people  fancy  a  decay  of  the  hope  of  man.  But 
the  moral  and  religious  sentiments  meet  us  everywhere,  alike  in 
markets  as  in  churches.  A  God  starts  up  behind  cotton-bales  also. 
The  conscience  of  man  is  regenerated  as  is  the  atmosphere,  so  that 
society  can  not  be  debauched.  That  health  which  we  call  Virtue 
is  an  equipoise  which  easily  redresses  itself,  and  resembles  those 
rocking-s tones  which  a  child's  finger  can  move  and  a  weight  of 
many  hundred  tons  can  not  overthrow." 

This  address  is  of  importance  as  showing  his  sympa 
thies,  his  interest  in  socialism,  in  Swedenborg,  and  in 
the  future  of  America.  It  gives  a  very  clear  idea  of 
the  tendencies  of  his  mind,  and,  better  than  any  thing 
else,  indicates  his  attitude  towards  the  reforms  of  the 
time.  In  a  closing  paragraph,  he  says  the  Review  is  to 
be  open  especially  to  those  "inspired  pages"  which  come 
of  "inevitable  utterance;"  while  the  editors  rely  on  the 
"magnetism  of  truth"  to  fill  its  pages.  He  closes  with 
this  expressive  sentence :  "  We  rely  on  the  truth  for  and 
against  ourselves" 

During  these  years  of  social  and  reformatory  agita 
tion,  his  trust  was  in  the  soul,  its  purification  and 
elevation ;  and  through  its  culture  only  did  he  hope  to 
regenerate  the  world.  In  1837  Mann  reports  that  Em 
erson  summed  up  the  commandments  into  "Sit  aloof" 
and  "  Keep  a  diary."  He  hoped  little  from  great  social 
agitations  ;  he  believed  all  things  would  result  when  the 
individual  soul  came  into  harmony  with  God.  In  his 
essays  and  in  his  poems  he  frequently  justifies  this  atti 
tude,  and  says  he  is  not  called  but  to  meditate  and  to 
keep  silence  by  himself.  His  real  influence  came  out, 
however,  in  his  personal  relations  with  many  of  the 


.BROOK   FARM   AND   OTHER   REFORMS.  103 

finest  minds  of  the  time.  The  impression  he  made  may 
be  seen  in  what  Harriet  Martineau  wrote  of  him  in  her 
Retrospect  of  Western  Travel.  She  saw  much  of  him 
during  her  visit  to  the  United  States  in  1835-36,  and 
gamed  a  fine  insight  into  his  character. 

"There  is  a  remarkable  man  in  the  United  States,  she  said, 
without  knowing  whom  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  United 
States  can  not  be  fully  kno\vn.  I  mean  by  this,  not  only  that  he 
has  powers  and  worth  \vhich  constitute  him  an  element  in  the 
estimate  to  be  formed  of  hi:3  country,  but  that  his  intellect  and 
his  character  are  the  opposite  of  those  which  the  influences  of  his 
country  and  his  time  are  supposed  almost  necessarily  to  form.  I 
speak  of  Mr.  Emerson.  He  is  yet  in  the  prime  of  life.  Great 
thing's  are  expected  from  him ;  and  great  things,  it  seems,  he  can 
not  but  do  if  he  have  life  and  health  to  prosecute  his  course.  He 
is  a  thinker  and  scholar. 

"  He  has  modestly  and  silently  withdrawn  himself  from  the  per 
turbations  and  conflicts  of  the  crowd  of  men,  without  declining 
any  of  the  business  of  life,  or  repressing  any  of  his  human  sympa 
thies.  He  is  a  thinker,  without  being  solitary,  abstracted,  and 
unfitted  for  the  time.  He  is  a  scholar,  without  being  narrow^  book 
ish,  and  prone  to  occupy  himself  only  with  other  men's  thoughts. 
He  is  remarkable  for  the  steadiness  and  fortitude  with  which  he 
makes  those  objects  which  are  frequently  considered  the  highest  in 
their  own  department  subordinate  to  something  higher  still,  whose 
connection  with  their  department  he  has  clearly  discovered.  There 
are  not  a  few  riien,  I  hope,  in  America  who  decline  the  pursuit  of 
wealth ;  not  a  few  who  refrain  from  ambition ;  and  some  few  who 
devote  themselves  to  thought  and  study  from  a  pure  love  of  an 
intellectual  life.  But  the  case  before  us  is  a  higher  one  than  this. 
The  intellectual  life  is  nourished  from  a  love  of  the  diviner  life,  of 
which  it  is  an  clement.  Consequently  the  thinker  is  ever  present 
to  the  duty,  and  the  scholar  to  tho  active  business,  of  the  hour ;  and 
his  home  is  the  scene  of  his  greatest  acts.  lie  is  ready  at  every 
call  of  action.  He  lectures  to  the  factory  people  at  Lowell  when 
they  ask.  He  preaches  when  the  opportunity  is  presented.  He  is 
known  at  every  house  along  the  road  ho  travels  to  and  from  home 
by  the  words  he  has  dropped  and  tho  deeds  he  has  done.  The  little 
boy  who  carries  wood  for  his  household  has  been  enlightened  by 
him,  and  his  most  transient  guccts  owe  to  him  their  experience  of 
what  the  highest  grace  of  domestic  manners  may  be.  He  neglects 
no  political  duty,  and  is  unmindful  of  nothing  in  the  march  of 
events  which  can  affect  the  virtue  and  poace  of  men.  While  he 
is  far  above  fretting  himself  because  of  evil-doers,  he  has  ever  ready 
his  verdict  for  the  right  and  his  right  hand  for  its  champions. 
While  apart  from  the  passions  of  all  controversies,  he  is  ever  pres 
ent  with  their  principles,  declaring  himself,  and  taking  his  stand, 


104  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

while  appearing  to  be  incapable  of  contempt  of  persons,  however 
uncompromising  may  be  his  indignation  against  what  is  dishonest 
and  harsh.  Earnest  as  is  the  tone  of  his  mind,  and  placidly  strenu 
ous  as  is  his  life,  an  exquisite  spirit  of  humor  pervades  his  inter 
course.  A  quiet  gayety  breaihes  out  of  his  conversation ;  and  his 
observation,  as  keen  as  it  is  benevolent,  furnishes  him  with  per 
petual  material  for  the  exercise  of,  his  humor.  In  such  a  man  it 
is  difficult  to  point  out  any  one  characteristic  ;  but  if,  out  of  such 
a  harmony,  one  leading  quality  is  to  be  distinguished,  it  is  in  him 
modest  independence.  A  more  entire  and  modest  independence  I 
am  not  aware  of  having  ever  witnessed,  though  in  America  I  saw 
two  or  three  approaches  to  it.  It  is  an  independence  equally  of 
thought,  of  speech,  of  demeanor,  of  occupation,  and  of  objects  in 
life,  yet  without  a  trace  of  contempt  in  its  temper,  or  of  encroach 
ment  in  its  action." 

This  noble  picture  by  one  who  was  as  ready  to  set 
forth  faults  as  to  see  them  is  a  fine  testimonial  to  the 
pure  and  rich  impression  which  Emerson  has  made  upon 
all  who  have  come  into  personal  contact  with  him,  or 
into  a  sympathetic  appreciation  of  his  books.  The  pure 
humanity  of  the  man  stands  out  everywhere,  full,  rich, 
penetrating,  infused  through  all  his  words  and  conduct. 
It  has  made  him  a  permanent  and  inspiring  power  in 
the  life  of  his  time.  What  Harriet  Martineau  saw  in 
him  was  amply  fulfilled.  Still  later  Frederika  Bremer 
felt  the  magic  charm  of  his  influence,  and  wrote  of  it 
in  her  Homes  of  the  New  World,  describing  her  visit  to 
the  United  States  in  1849. 

"  He  is  in  a  high  degree  pure,  noble,  and  severe,  demanding  as 
much  from  himself  as  he  demands  from  others.  His  words  are 
severe,  his  judgments  often  keen  and  merciless ;  but  his  demeanor  is 
alike  noble  and  pleasing,  and  his  voice  beautiful.  One  may  quarrel 
with  Emerson's  thoughts,  with  his  judgment,  but  not  with  himself. 
That  which  struck  me  most,  as  distinguishing  him  from  most  other 
human  beings,  is  nobility.  lie  is  a  born  gentleman." 

"  The  writings  of  this  scorner  of  imperfection,  of  the  mean  and  the 
paltry,  this  bold  exacter  of  perfection  in  man,  have  for  me  a  fasci 
nation  which  amounts  almost  to  magic!  I  often  object  to  him, 
quarrel  with  him.  I  see  that  his  stoicism  is  one-sidedness,  his 
pantheism  an  imperfection;  and  I  know  that  which  is  greater  and 
i !!oi"'  perfect;  but  I  am  under  the  influence  of  his  magical  power. 
I  believe  myself  to  -have  become  greater  through  his  greatness, 
•  •I-  through  his  strength;  and  I  breathe  the  air  of  a  higher 
sphere  in  this  world,  which  is  indescribably  refreshing  to  me." 


BROOK  FARM  AND  OTHER  REFORMS.      105 

He  had  much  the  same  influence  on  Margaret  Fuller, 
at  first  appearing  cold  and  intellectually  distant,  to  have 
faith  "in  the  universal  but  not  in  the  individual  man." 
As  she  knew  him  better,  his  influence  upon  her  life 
became  greater  ;  and  at  last  she  could  say,  — 

"  My  inmost  heart  blesses  the  fate  that  gave  me  birth  in  the 
same  clime  and  time,  and  that  has  drawn  me  into  such  a  close  bond 
with  him  as,  it  is  my  hopeful  faith,  will  never  be  broken,  but  from 
sphere  to  sphere  ever  be  hallowed." 

"  When  I  look  forward  to  eternal  growth,  I  am  always  aware 
that  I  am  far  larger  and  deeper  for  him.  His  influence  has  been  to 
me  that  of  lofty  assurance  and  sweet  serenity.  I  present  to  him 
the  many  forms  of  nature,  and  solicit  with  music ;  he  melts  them 
all  into  spirit,  and  reproves  performance  with  prayer.  With  most 
men  I  bring  words  of  now  past  life,  and  do  actions  suggested  by 
the  wants  of  these  natures  rather  than  my  own.  But  he  stops  me 
from  doing  any  thing,  and  makes  me  think." 

In  1852  dough  found  Emerson  "the  only  profound 
man  in  the  country,"  and  came  into  very  close  relations 
of  sympathy  with  him.  Other  minds  were  affected  by 
his  power,  and  saw  in  him  as  much.  Hawthorne  said 
his  mind  acted  upon  other  minds  "with  wonderful 
magnetism." 

"  It  was  good,  said  his  neighbor  at  the  '  Old  Manse,'  to  meet 
him  in  the  wood-paths,  or  sometimes  in  our  avenue,  with  that 
pure  intellectual  gleam  diffusing  about  his  presence  like  the  gar 
ment  of  a  shining  one ;  and  he,  so  quiet,  so  simple,  so  without 
pretension,  encountering  each  man  alive  as  if  expecting  to  receive 
more  than  he  wrould  impart.  And,  in  truth,  the  heart  of  many  an 
ordinary  man  had,  perchance,  inscriptions  which  he  could  not  read. 
But  it  was  impossible  to  dwell  in  his  vicinity  without  inhaling 
more  or  less  the  mountain  atmosphere  of  his  lofty  thought."  1 

Emerson's  personal  influence  was  wide-reaching,  very 
great,  through  the  charm  of  his  character,  the  depth 
and  purity  of  his  moral  convictions,  and  the  sublime 
strength  of  his  personal  faith.  This  influence  has  been 
described  by  Alcott : 2  — 

"  Fortunate  the  visitor  who  is  admitted  of  a  morning  for  the 
high  discourse,  or  permitted  to  join  the  poet  in  his  afternoon  walks 
to  Walden,  the  Cliffs,  or  elsewhere,  —  hours  to  be  remembered  as 

1  Mosses  from  an  OVd  Manse.  2  Concord  Days. 


106  EALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

unlike  any  others  in  the  calendar  of  experiences.  Shall  I  describe 
them  as  sallies  oftenest  into  cloudlands,  into  scenes  and  intimacies 
ever  new,  none  the  less  novel  nor  remote  than  when  first  experi 
enced  ?  interviews,  however,  bringing  their  own  trail  of  perplexing 
thoughts,  costing  some  days',  several  nights',  sleep,  oftentimes,  to 
restore  one  to  his  place  and  poise.  Certainly  safer  not  to  venture 
without  the  sure  credentials,  unless  one  will  have  his  pretensions 
pricked,  his  conceits  reduced  in  their  vague  dimensions.  But  to 
the  modest,  the  ingenuous,  the  gifted,  welcome!  Nor  can  any 
bearing  be  more  poetic  and  polite  to  all  such,  to  youth  and  accom 
plished  women  especially.  His  is  a  faith  approaching  to  supersti 
tion  concerning  admirable  persons ;  the  rumor  of  excellence  of  any 
sort  being  like  the  arrival  of  a  new  gift  to  mankind,  and  he  the 
first  to  proffer  his  recognition  and  hope.  He,  if  any,  must  have 
taken  the  census  of  the  admirable  people  of  his  time,  numbering  as 
many  among  his  friends  as  most  living  Americans ;  while  he  is 
already  recognized  as  the  representative  mind  of  his  country,  to 
whom  distinguished  foreigners  are  especially  commended  when 
visiting  America." 

Among  his  associates,  Emerson  was  the  leader,  the 
most  highly  honored  of  a  company  of  brilliant  men 
and  women.  Margaret  Fuller  spent  weeks  and  'months 
in  his  home.  Thoreau  found  a  home  with  him  for  a 
long  time,  and  was  an  intimate  companion  always. 
When  Alcott  moved  to  Concord,  in  1839,  their  friend 
ship  became  most  intimate ;  while  Elizabeth  Peabody 
was  another  of  those  with  whose  generous  humanity 
arid  wide  philanthropic  aims  he  strongly  sympathized. 
Parker  was  wont  to  visit  him  often,  and  always  returned 
to  his  work  quickened  and  inspired.  A  brilliant  com 
pany  of  these  minds  often  gathered  in  his  study  ;  and 
the  conversations  held  there  were  of  a  remarkable 
character  for  their  high  thought,  their  lofty  aims,  and 
their  inspiration.  He  knew,  and  often  met,  all  the  best 
minds  in  Massachusetts,  in  all  professions  ;  and  his  influ 
ence  among  them  was  great.  His  purity,  the  nobility  of 
his  life,  his  powers  of  conversation,  carried  weight  every 
where  ;  and  he  became  one  of  the  most  marked  of  all 
the  influences  of  the  times.  It  was  thus  he  did  his 
work  of  reform,  quickening  other  minds,  giving  a 
higher  sense  of  the  value  of  life,  and  inspiring  a  pro- 
founder  faith  in  the  soul  and  its  possibilities. 


LEOTUttES   AND   ESSAYS.  107 


IX. 

LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS. 

WHEN  Emerson  settled  down  at  Concord,  he  con 
tinued  in  his  own  way  to  be  a  conscientious  stu 
dent.  He  read  with  diligence  and  care,  not  widely,  but 
with  profit.  The  poets  were  thoroughly  studied,  as 
were  the  great  imaginative  and  moral  writers  of  all 
times  and  lands.  The  early  English  idealists  received 
his  studious  attention ;  and  he  continued  to  read  Col 
eridge,  Wordsworth,  Landor,  and  Carlyle,  with  Goethe, 
Schiller,  and  others  among  the  Germans.  With  Kant, 
Fichte,  and  Schelling  he  became  somewhat  familiar, 
but  not  largely.  What  he  owes  to  these  men,  he  owes 
to  them  at  second-hand  mostly,  through  their  admirers 
and  interpreters.  Swedenborg  he  read  diligently,  as 
he  did  the  profoundest  religious  writers  of  the  Christian 
ages.  Cud  worth  held  his  attention,  as  well  as  the  mod 
ern  interpreters  of  the  old  idealists.  Plato,  Plotmus, 
Pythagoras,  and  the  ancient  thinkers  were  thoroughly 
studied.  He  was  early  interested  in  the  oriental  reli 
gions,  and  secured  the  works  then  published  concerning; 
them.  Boehme  and  the  other  German  mystics  were 
read  with  the  keenest  interest.  His  readings  in  these 
directions  gave  color  to  his  poetry.  Much  of  it  can  bo 
understood  only  by  reference  to  his  enthusiastic  studies 
in  the  field  of  oriental  mystic  thought.  In  science  and 
social  economy  he  also  found  much  to  interest,  and  his 
essays  bear  testimony  to  the  fact  that  his  studies  in 
these  directions  were  profitable. 

He  has  been  so  much  the  student  and  the  poet,  that 
his  outward  life  gives  few  events  to  record.  The  growth 
of  his  Meas,  and  of  his  influence,  furnish  nearly  all  the 
facts  there  are  to  his  biography.  )  By  no  extraneous 


108  RALPH   WALDO   EMEKSOX. 

methods  whatever  has  he  sought  to  influence  the 
thought  of  his  time.  He  has  quietly  followed  the  lead 
ings  of  his  own  genius,  coming  into  close  contact  with 
a  few  strong  minds,  and  saying  in  a  quiet  way,  with  no 
demonstration  or  noise,  what  there  was  in  his  heart  to 
say.  Yet  there  was  something  so  genuine  in  the 
thought  and  the  influence  he  brought  to  bear  on  his 
time,  that  steadily  his  reputation  gained,  and  his  circle 
of  listeners  widened.  The  period  from  1840  to  1860 
was  the  one  in.  which  this  process  went  on  most  effec 
tively.  It  is  the  period  of  his  greatest  power,  when  his 
best  essays  were  produced.  Before  this,  he  had  achieved 
recognition  as  a  new  thinker;  but  he  was.  regarded-  as 
an  erratic  and  unbalanced  genius.  The  distrust  with 
which  his  novel  opinions  were  at  first  received,  however, 
gradually  melted  away  before  the  healthful  vigor  of  his 
influence. 

^  During  this  period  The  Dial  had  its  existence,  Brook 
Farm  was  founded  and  failed,  he  made  his  second  visit 
to  Europe,  he  began  to  lecture  beyond  New  England, 
and  he  took  part  in  the  anti-slavery  agitation  as  it  rose 
and  culminated.  It  was  a  remarkable  period,  brilliant 
with  great  names  in  politics  and  literature ;  and  during 
it  American  literature  first  came  to  have  a  name  and 
to  be  worthy  of  recognition.  Emerson  lectured  each 
winter  in  Boston ;  but  slowly  he  went  farther  and  far 
ther  away  from  that  center  on  his  lecturing  tours,  and 
his  name  came  to  be  an  influence  throughout  the  land. 

In  18-11  his  first  volume  of  Essays  was  published,  con 
taining  lectures  he  had  delivered  a  year  or  two  previous 
ly.  Some  of  his  very  best  essays  are  in  this  volume, 
nearly  every  one  of  them  rising  to  the  highest  level  of 
his  ability  as  a  thinker  and  writer.  They  are  filled  with 
the  subtle  power  of  his  thought,  and  give  full  expres 
sion  to  those  ideas  which  are  the  sources  of  his  philoso 
phy.  He  was  here  more  truly  himself  than  in  any  other 
book  he  has  published,  though  single  essays  in  the 
other  volumes  reach  the  height  almost  constantly  main 
tained  in  this.  But  it  did  not  escape  the  criiies.  most 
of  whom  did  not  understand  it.  One  of  them  found  it 


LECTURES    AND   ESSAYS.  109 

mere  devc^--«£.JC£aJLjli£aiiiiig-4-feaii-any  other  book  which 
ever  fell  into  his  hands;  and  he  thought  such  essays 
could  be  produced  during  a  lifetime,  as  rapidly  as  a 
human  pen  could  be  made  to  move.1  Felton  said  they 
contained  single  thoughts  of  dazzling  brilliancy,  with  a 
copious  vein  of  practical  illustration ;  but  he  found  them 
full  of  extravagance  of  opinion,  overweening  self-confi 
dence,  and  setting  all  authority  at  defiance./^  The  ideas 
set  forth  were  called  ancient  errors,  mistaken  for  new 
truths,  and  disguised  in  the  drapery  of  a  misty  rhetoric. 
His  theory  of  the  instincts,  Felton  declared,  would  over 
turn  society,  and  resolve  the  world  into  chaos.2 

This  volume  was  the  same  year  reprinted  in  England 
W  Twelve  Eways,  and  with  a  preface  by  Carlyle.  The 
editor  indulged  in  his  usual  style  of  vehement  expres 
sion,  but  he  also  wrote  with  great  appreciation  of  his 
American  friend. 

"  The  name  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  he  said,  is  not  entirely 
new  in  England ;  distinguished  travelers  bring  us  tidings  of  such 
a  man ;  fractions  of  his  writings  have  found  their  way  into  the 
hands  of  the  curious  here ;  fitful  hints  that  there  is  in  New  England 
some  spiritual  notability  called  Emerson  glide  through  reviews  and 
magazines.  AVhether  these  hints  were  true  or  not  true,  readers  are 
now  to  judge  for  themselves  a  little  better. 

"  Emerson's  writings  and  speakings  amount  to  something ;  and 
yet  hitherto,  as  it  seems  to  me,  this  Emerson  is  far  less  notable  for 
what  he  has  spoken  or  done  than  for  the  many  things  he  has  not 
spoken  and  has  forborne  to  do.  With  uncommon  interest  I  have 
learned  that  this,  and  in  such  a  never-resting  locomotive  country  too, 
is  one  of  those  rare  men  who  have  withal  the  invaluable  talent  of 
sitting  still.  "-That  an  educated  man  of  good  gifts  and  opportuni 
ties,  after  looking  at  the  public  arena,  and  even  trying  —  not  with 
ill  success  —  what  its  tasks  and  its  prizes  might  amount  to,  should 
retire  for  long  years  into  rustic  obscurity,  and,  amid  the  all-pervad 
ing  jingle  of  dollars  and  loud  chaffering  of  ambitions  and  promo 
tions,  should  quietly,  with  cheerful  deliberateness,  sit  down  to  spend 
his  life,  not  in  Mammon-worship,  or  the  hunt  for  reputation,  influ 
ence,  place,  or  any  outward  advantage  whatsoever ;  this,  when  we 
get  notice  of  it,  is  a  thing  really  worth  noting.  .  .  . 

"  For  myself,  T  have  looked  over  with  no  common  feeling  to  this 
brave  Emerson,  seated  by  his  rustic  hearth  on  the  other  side  of  the 
ocean  (yet  not  altogether  parted  from  me  either),  silently  commun 
ing  with  his  own  soul  and  with  the  God's  World  it  •finds  itself  alive 

1  Princeton  Review,  Otober,  1841.        '2  Christian  Examiner,  May,  1841. 


110  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

in  yonder.  Pleasures  of  Virtue,  Progress  of  the  Species,  Black 
Emancipation,  New  Tariff,  Eclecticism,  Locofocoism,  Ghost  of  Im 
proved  Socinianism ;  these,  with  many  other  ghosts  and  substances, 
are  squeaking,  jabbering,  according  to  their  capabilities,  round  this 
man.  To  one  man  among  the  sixteen  millions  their  jabber  is  all 
unmusical.  The  silent  voices  of  the  stars  above  and  of  the  green 
earth  beneath  are  profitable  to  him,  —  tell  him  gradually  that  these 
others  are  but  ghosts,  which  will  shortly  have  to  vanish ;  that  the 
Life-Fountain  these  proceed  out  of  does  not  vanish.  The  words  of 
such  a  man  —  what  words  he  finds  good  to  speak  —  are  worth 
attending  to.  By  degrees  a  small  circle  of  living  souls  eager  to 
hear  is  gathered.  The  silence  of  this  man  has  to  become  speech. 
May  this  too,  in  its  due  season,  prosper  for  him  1  Emerson  has 
gone  to  lecture  various  times  to  special  audiences  in  Boston,  and 
occasionally  elsewhere.  Three  of  these  lectures,  already  printed, 
are  known  to  some  here,  as  is  the  little  pamphlet  called  Nature,  of 
somewhat  earlier  date.  It  may  be  said,  a  great  meaning  lies  in 
these  pieces,  which  as  yet  finds  no  adequate  expression  for  itself. 
A  noteworthy  though  very  unattractive  work,  moreover,  is  that  new 
periodical  they  c&ll~The  Dial,  in  which  he  occasionally  writes ;  Avhich 
appears,  indeed,  generally  to  be  imbued  with  his  way  of  thinking, 
and  to  proceed  from  the  circle  that  learns  of  him.  This  present 
little  volume  of  Essays,  printed  in  Boston  a  few  months  ago,  is 
Emerson's  first  book,  —  an  unpretending  little  book,  composed, 
probably,  in  good  part  from  mere  lectures  which  already  lay  written. 
It  affords  us,  on  several  sides,  in  such  manner  as  it  can,  a  direct 
glimpse  into  the  man  and  that  spiritual  world  of  his. 

"  Emerson,  I  understand,  was  bred  to  theology ;  of  which  pri 
mary  bent,  his  latest  way  of  thought  still  bears  traces,  In  a  very 
enigmatic  way  we  hear  much  of  the  '  universal  soul  of  the,'  etc. : 
flickering  like  bright  bodiless  northern  streamers,  notions  and 
half-notions  of  a  metaphysic,  theosophic  kind,  are  seldom  long 
wanting  in  these  Essays.  I  do  not  advise  the  British  public  to 
trouble  itself  much  with  all  that;  still  less  to  take  offense  at  it. 
Whether  this  Emerson  be  a  '  Pantheist/  or  what  kind  of  theist  or 
ist  he  may  be,  can  perhaps  as  well  remain  undecided.  If  he  prove 
a  devout-minded,  veritable,  and  original  man,  this  for  the  present 
will  suffice.  I  sis  and  isms  arc  rather  gi'owing  a  weariness,  Such  a 
man  does  not  readily  range  himself  under  isms.  A  man  to  tvhom 
the  '  open  secret  of  the  universe '  is  no  longer  a  closed  one,  what 
can  his  speech  of  it  be  in  these  days  ?  All"  human  speech  in  the 
best  days,  all  human  thought  that  can  or  could  articulate  itself  in 
reference  to  such  things,  what  is  it  but  the  eager  stammering  and 
struggling  as  of  a  wondering  infant,  in  view  of  the  Unnamable? 
That  this  little  book  has  no  '  system/  and  points  or  stretches  far 
beyond  all  systems,  is  one  of  its  merits.  We  will  call  it  the  solil 
oquy  of  a  true  soul,  alone  under  the  stars,  in  this  day.  .  .  . 

"  For  the  rest,  what  degree  of  mere  literary  talent  lies  in  these 
utterances  is  but  a  secondary  question  which  every  reader  may 
gradually  answer  for  himself.  WThat  Emerson's  talent  is,  we  will 


LECTURES  AND   ESSAYS.  Ill 

not  altogether  estimate  by  this  book.  The  utterance  is  abrupt, 
fitful;  the  great  idea,  not  yet  embodied,  struggles  towards  an  em 
bodiment.  Yet  everywhere  there  is  the  true  heart  of  a  man,  which 
is  the  parent  of  all  talent,  —  which  without  much  talent  can  not 
exist.  A  breath  as  from  the  green  country,  all  the  wTelcomer  that 
it  is  TVew-England  country,  meets  us  wholesomely  everywhere  in 
these  Essays :  the  authentic  green  earth  is  there,  with  her  moun 
tains,  rivers ;  with  her  mills  and  farms.  Sharp  gleams  of  insight 
arrest  us  by  their  pure  intellectuality ;  here  and  there,  in  heroic 
rusticity,  a  tone  of  mpdest  manfulness,  of  mild  invincibility,  low- 
voiced  but  lion-strong,  makes  us,  too,  thrill  with  a  noble  pride. 
Talent  ?  Such  ideas  as  dwell  in  this  man,  how  can  they  ever  speak 
themselves  with  enough  of  talent?  The  talent  is  not  the  chief 
question  here.  The  idea,  —  that  is  the  chief  question." 

In  a  French  journal,1  "Daniel  Stern  "  says  the  book 
first  received  mention  in  Paris  by  Philarete  Chasles  in 
an  article  on  the  literary  tendencies  of  America ;  and 
later  it  was  cited  in  the  lecture-room  by  a  foreign  poet, 
Micklewicz.  When  she  inquired  for  it  she  was  obliged 
to  send  to  London ;  and,  after  reading  it,  says,  "  It  be 
comes  difficult  to  explain  so  total  an  ignorance  in  respect 
to  so  wonderful  an  intellect,  so  attractive  a  moralist,  as 
Emerson ;  but  it  is  understood  upon  reflecting  that  he 
lives  careless  of  glory,  far  from  the  world."  She  says 
he  is  better  than  a  philosopher  or  moralist,  "  a  man  of  a 
superior  nature,  who  has  the  courage  and  wisdom  to  [ 
think  and  act  in  conformity  with  his  nature."  His  ' 
writings  "bear  the  undeniable  impress  of  a  virile  and 
natural  greatness."  "  The  singular  charm  of  the  essays 
is,  that  we  hold  him  accountable  for  nothing,  because 
he  pretends  to  nothing.  He  draws  you  after  him  with 
irresistible  bonhomie.  There  is  no  difficulty  in  following 
him,  for  we  breathe  a  salubrious  atmosphere  in  his  work. 
Nothing  offends,  not  even  the  discords,  because  all  is 
resolved  and  harmonized  in  the  sentiment  of  a  superior 
truth.  The  eccentricities  do  not  shock  us  ;  they  are 
not  affected  eccentricities,  but  natural,  as  unsought  for, 
as  homogeneous  to  the  mind  of  Emerson,  as  certain 
graceful  freaks  of  vegetation." 

1  Revue  Indcpendante  for  July  25, 1846.  Daniel  Stern  is  the  pseudo 
nym  for  tlio  Countess  d'Agoult,  a  novelist  and  historian,  whose  chief 
work  is  a  History  of  the  Revolution  of  1848 


112  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

In  1845  Edgar  Quinet  published  a  volume  of  lectures 
on  Christianity  and  the  French  Revolution.  One  of  these 
was  devoted  to  America  and  the  Reformation,  in  which 
he  expressed  this  opinion  of  Emerson :  — 

"  In  this  North  America,  which  is  pictured  to  us  as  so  material 
istic,  I  find  the  most  ideal  writer  of  our  times.  Contrast  the 
formulas  of  German  philosophy  (too  often  copied  from  Alexandria) 
with  the  inspiration,  the  initiative,  the  moral  dan  of  Emerson.  A 
new  philosophy  might  be  expected  to  come  forth  from  those  virgin 
forests  sooner  or  later;  ancl  already  it  begins  to  raise  its  head. 
The  author  I  have  just  named  is  proof  enough  that  bold  pioneers 
are  at  work  in  America  pursuing  the  quest  of  truth  in  the  moral 
w7orld.  What  we  announce  in  Europe  from  the  summit  of  a  ruined 
past  he  also  announces  in  the  germinating  solitude  of  a  world 
absolutely  new.  What  mean  these  voices,  these  spiritual  presences, 
which  meet  us,  by  surprise,  across  the  ocean  ?  Although  we  have 
abandoned  the  past,  neither  here  nor  there  have  we  lost  ourselves 
in  the  labyrinth  of  a  desert  island.  On  the"  virgin  soil  of  the  new 
world  behold  the  footsteps  of  a  man,  and  a  man  who  is  moving 
toward  the  future  by  the  same  road  that  we  are  going." 

In  the  spring  of  1842  Emerson  suffered  a  great  domes 
tic  loss  in  the  death  of  his  son  Waldo,  who  had  already 
given  great  promise  for  the  future.  This  loss  he  has 
most  expressively  described  in  his  "  Threnody,"  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  of  all  his  poems.  The  first  part 
of  this  poem,  to  the  line,  — 

"  Born  for  the  future,  to  the  future  lost," 

was  written  immediately  after  Waldo's  death.  The 
remainder  was  written  two  years  later.  Thoreau  'wrote 
that  "he  died  as  the  mist  lises  from  the  brook/'  He 
had  not  even  taken  root  here.  Thoreau  says,  "  I  was 
not  startled  to  hear  that  he  was  dead ;  it  seemed 
thje  most,  natural  event  that  could  happen.  His  line 
( rganization  demanded  it,  and  nature  yielded  its  re 
quest." 1  Margaret  Fuller  was  warmly  attached  tn  the 
boy,  expressing  her  grief  at  his  1<  ss  in  one  ( f  her 
letters. 

"  I  am  deeply  sad  at  the  loss  of  little  Waldo,  she  wrote,  from 
whom  I  hoped  more  than  from  almost  any  living  being.  I  can  not 

1  letters,  under  date  of  March  2, 1842. 


LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS.  113 

yet  reconcile  myself  to  the  thought  that  the  sun  shines  upon  the 
grave  of  the  beautiful  blue-eyed  boy,  and  I  shall  see  him  no  more. 

"  Five  years  he  was  an  angel  to  us,  and  I  know  not  that  any 
person  was  ever  more  the  theme  of  thought  to  me.  As  I  \valk  the 
streets  they  swarm  with  apparently  worthless  lives ;  and  the  ques 
tion  will  rise,  why  he,  why  just  he,  who  '  bore  within  himself  the 
golden  future/  must  be  torn  away  ?  His  father  will  meet  him  again  : 
but  to  me  he  seems  lost,  and  yet  that  is  weakness.  I  must  meet 
that  which  he  represented,  since  I  so.  truly  loved  it.  He  was  the 
.only  child  I  ever  saw  that  I  sometimes  wished  I  could  have  called 
mine. 

"  I  loved  him  more  than  any  child  I  ever  knew,  as  he  was  of 
nature  more  fair  and  noble.  You  would  be  surprised  to  know  how 
dear  he  was  'to  my  imagination.  I  saw  him  but  little,  and  it  was 
well ;  for  it  is  unwise  to  bind  the  heart  where  there  is  110  claim. 
But  it  is  all  gone,  and  is  another  of  the  lessons  brought  by  each 
year,  that  we  are  to  expect  suggestions  only,  and  not  fulfillments, 
from  each  form  of  beauty,  and  to  regard  them  merely  as  Angels  of 
The  Beauty."  l 

In  1843  Emerson  edited  Carlyle's  Past  and  Present. 
Aug.  1,  1844,  he  gave  an  address,  in  Concord,  on  the 
anniversary  of  West-India  Emancipation.  On  this 
occasion  Thoreau  rang  the  church-bell  to  call  the  peo 
ple  together,  having  previously  gone  to  the  houses  to 
notify  them  of  the  address.  The  same  year  the  second 
series  of  Essays  appeared,  and  was  at  once  reprinted 
in  England,  with  a  short  preface  by  Carlyle.  This 
volume  was  better  received  than  the  first  one.  Hedge 
praised  it  in  The  Christian  Examiner,  and  saw  little  in 
the  essays  to  condemn,  though  not  satisfied  with  their 
attitude  towards  Christ.  They  "  are  destined,"  he  said, 
"  to  carry  far  into  coming  time  their  lofty  cheer  and 
spirit-stirring  notes  of  courage  and  of  hope.  We  dare 
to  predict  for  them  a  devotion  coetaiieous  with  the  lan 
guage  in  which  they  are  composed.  So  long  as  there 
are  lovers  of  fine  discourse  and  generous  sentiment  in 
the  world,  they  will  find  their  own."  In  The  Democratic 
Review  they  were  written  of  with  great  enthusiasm,  and 
with  a  full  appreciation  of  Emerson's  ideas.  The  critic 
could  not  find  in  the  whole  range  of  literature  another 
mind  that  overlooks  the  world  from  a  point  of  view  so 
high  and'  commanding ;  that  arrives  so  surely,  by  an 

1  Memoirs,  vol.  ii.  p.  62. 


114  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

induction  so  rapid  and  unerring,  at  the  last  results 
from  the  speculative  reason.  In.  the  first  volume  Emer 
son  gave  expression  to  his  philosophical  views  on  the 
highest  themes  of  history,  life,  and  religion  ;  indeed,  it  is 
the  book  of  his  philosophy.  The  second  series  deals 
with  the  themes  suggested  by  morals,  art,  politics,  and 
poetry,  applying  to  them  the  same  philosophical  spirit 
and  ideas. 

His  Poems  were  published  in  1847,  including  many 
which  had  appeared  in  The  Dial.  They  gave  a  still 
ampler  expression  to  his  philosophy,  many  of  them 
being  saturated  with  his  spiritual  ideas.  They  seemed 
obscure  to  the  public,  however,  because  so  filled  with 
the  results  of  his  oriental  studies.  Bowen  declared 
"this  volume  of  professed  poetry  contained  the  most 
prosaic  and  unintelligible  stuff  that  it  had  ever  been 
his  fortune  to  encounter."  1  Bartol  criticised  very 
sharply  his  religious  views,  especially  concerning  Christ, 
in  a  notice  of  the  Poems,  but  said  he  knew  of  no 
poetic  compositions  "that  surpass  his  in  their  charac 
teristic  excellence."  "  We  know,"  he  said,  "  of  nothing 
in  the  whole  range  of  modern  writers  superior  in  origi 
nal  merit  to  his  productions."  Here  was  more  religious 
inspiration  than  had  entered  into  more  than  a  very  few 
modern  volumes  of  poetry,  with  the  fervor  and  power 
of  the  old  prophets.  There  was,  also,  that  rich  fullness 
of  the  best  of  the  mystics,  when  they  most  truly  rise  into 
the  height  of  spiritual  attainment.  These  two  tenden 
cies  were  wonderfully  combined  in  some  of  the  poems, 
making  them  unique  in  modern  poetry.  Such  a  volume, 
however,  could  not  soon  grow  into  popular  favor,  arid 
perhaps  can  never  have  more  than  a  limited  circle  of 
admirers.  It  is  a  book  for  poets  and  thinkers  more 
than  for  the  people ;  yet  some  of  these  poems  will  ever 
remain  the  admiration  of  all  lovers  of  nature  and  of 
moral  inspiration.  Their  tone  is  pure,  their  purpose 
of  the  highest.  The  muses  spoke  in  these  poems  ;  they 
were  never  courted,  or  used  for  secondary  purposes. 
They  came  in  answer  to  some  personal  experience  or 

1  North  American  Review,  April,  1847. 


LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS.  115 

burning  thought,  and  hence  they  are  full  of  the  life  of 
the  writer. 

Steadily  as  Emerson's  reputation  grew  at  home  during 
this  period,  it  had  even  a  wider  expression  in  England, 
and  grew  more  rapidly.  The  way  had  been  prepared 
there  by  others ;  and  he  entered  into  the  labors  of  Col 
eridge,  Wordsworth,  and  Carlyle.  At  home  he  was 
compelled  to  create  an  audience,  and  to  educate  his 
readers  to  the  appreciation  of  his  thought.  Few  here 
cared  for  philosophy  ;  and  but  a  limited  circle  had  been 
led,  either  by  English  or  German  books,  beyond  the  old 
lines  of  religious  thought. 

The  fame  of  his  lectures  having  reached  England,  and 
his  essays  having  been  widely  read  through  cheap  edi 
tions,  a  demand  was  made  for  hearing  him  face  to  face. 
A  series  of  mechanics'  institutes  invited  him  to  -read 
lectures  before  them.  There  came  also  a  promise  of  a 
wide  hearing  elsewhere ;  and  so  he  went  to  England  in 
October,  1847. 

He  gave  in  many  places  a  course  of  lectures  on 
Representative  Men.  In  London  he  delivered  a  special 
course  on  The  Mind  and  Manners  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century.  Other  subjects  of  his  lectures  were,  The 
Superlative  in  Manners  and  Literature,  Domestic  Life, 
and  Reading.  Those  on  the  nineteenth  century  were 
delivered  in  the  Portman-square  Literary  and  Scientific 
Institution.  The  subjects  were,  The  Powers  and  Laws 
of  Thought,  The  Relations  of  Intellect  to  Natural  Sci 
ence,  Tendencies  and  Duties  of  Men  of  Thought, 
Politics  and  Socialism,  Poetry  and  Eloquence,  Natural 
Aristocracy.  Before  the  delivery  of  this  course  he  spent 
some  weeks  in  Paris  in  their  preparation.  Among  his 
hearers  were  Carlyle,  Lady  Byron,  Forster,  Mrs.  Cowden 
Clarke,  and  numerous  men  of  letters,  critics,  members 
of  Parliament,  and  noblemen.  In  Jerrold's  Newspaper 
was  printed  the  following  account  of  these  lectures  :  — 

"  Precisely  at  four  o'clock  the  lecturer  glided  in,  and  suddenly 
appeared^  at  the  reading-desk.  Tall,  thin,  his  features  aquiline, 
his  eye  piercing  and  fixed ;  the  effect,  as  he  stood  quietly  before 
his  audience,  was  at  first  somewhat  startling,  and  then  nobly  ini 


116  EALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

pressive.  Having  placed  his  manuscript  on  the  desk  with  nervous 
rapidity,  and  paused,  the  lecturer  then  quickly,  and,  as  it  were,  with 
a  flash  of  action,  turned  over  the  first  leaf,  whispering  at  the  same 
time,  "Gentlemen  and  ladies"  The  initial  sentences  were  next 
pronounced  in  a  low  tone,  a  few  words  at  a  time,  hesitatingly,  as  if 
then  extemporaneously  meditated,  and  not,  as  they  really  were, 
premeditated  and  fore  written.  Time  was  thus  given  for  the  audi 
ence  to  meditate  them  too.  Meanwhile  the  meaning,  as  it  were, 
was  dragged  from  under  the  veil  and  covering  of  the  expression, 
and  ever  and  anon  a  particular  phrase  wa ;  so  emphatically  italici/ed 
as  to  command  attention.  There  was,  however,  nothing  like  ac 
quired  elocution,  no  regular  intonation,  in  fact,  none  of  the  usual 
oratorical  artifices,  but  for  the  most  part  a  shapeless  delivery  (only 
varied  bv  certain  nervous  twitches  and  angular  movements  of  the 
hand  aad  arms,  curious  to  see  and  even  smile  at),  and  calling  for 
much  co-operation  on  the  part  of  the  auditor  to  help  out  its  short 
comings.  Along  with  all  this,  there  was  an  eminent  bonhomie,  ear 
nestness,  and  sincerity,  which  bespoke  sympathy  and  respect,  —  nay, 
more,  secured  veneration." 

He  lectured  many  times  in  Scotland,  where  he  was 
received  as  cordially  as  in  England.  His  lecturing  there 
was  described  as  follows  by  one  who  heard  him  many 
times : l  — 

"  A  lecturer,  in  the  common  sense  of  the  term,  he  is  not :  call 
him  rather  a  public  monologist,  talking  rather  to  himself  than  to 
his  audience  ;  and  what  a  quiet,  cairn,  commanding  conversation  it 
is !  It  is  not  the  seraph  or  burning  one  you  see ;  it  is  the  naked 
cherubic  reason  thinking  aloud  before  you.  lie  reads  his  lectures 
without  excitement,  without  energy,  scarcely  even  with  emphasis, 
as  if  to  try  what  can  be  affected  by  the  pure,  unaided  momen 
tum  of  thought.  It  is  a  soul  totally  unsheathed  that  you  have  to 
do  with;  and  you  ask,  Is  this  a  spirit's  tongue  sounding  on  its 
way  ?  so  solitary  and  severe  seems  its  harmony.  There  is  no  betrayal 
of  emotion  except  now  and  then  when  a  slight  tremble  in  his  voice 
proclaims  that  ho  has  arrived  at  some  spot  of  thought  to  him  pecu 
liarly  sacred  or  dear.  There  is  110  emphasis  often  but  what  is  given 
by  the  eye,  and  this  is  felt  only  by  those  who  see  him  on  the  side- 
view.  Neither  standing  behind  him  nor  before,  can  we  form  any 
conception  of  the  rapt,  living  flash  which  breaks  forth  athwart  the 
spectator.  IIis_elojpi£iicfiJsJJuis_ol  that  .high  kind  which  produces 
great  effects  at  small  expenditure  of  means,  and  without  any  effort 
or  turbulence  ;  still  and  strong  as  gravitation,  it  fixes,  subdues,  and 
turns  us  round." 

At  the  lectures  in  Manchester  he  spoke  to  large  audi 
ences.  In  London  he  had  a  thousand  hearers  to  his 

1  George  Gilfillan,  first  Gallery  of  Literary  Portraits. 


LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS.  117 

lecture  on  Montaigne,  and  was  greeted  with  loud  ap 
plause  on  entering  the  lecture-room.  He  was  every 
where  received  in  the  same  manner,  with  enthusiasm, 
full  houses,  and  an  awakened  interest  in  culture.  His 
lectures  proved  to  be  attractive  and  popular,  and  his 
trip  was  in  every  way  a  successful  one.  He  spent  some 
time  with  Carlyle  1  in  his  own  house  ;  and  he  saw  Rogers, 
Hallam,  Macaulay,  Milman,  Barry  Cornwall,  Dickens, 
Thackeray,  Tennyson,  Leigh  Hunt,  Helps,  Clough, 
Arnold,  Faraday,  Lyell,  Carpenter,  Mrs.  Jameson,  and 
Mrs.  Somerville.  He  was  welcomed  in  many  private 
houses,  and  had  a  good  opportunity  of  becoming  ac 
quainted  with  the  English  people.  Pie  also  visited 
Wordsworth  and  Miss  Martineau  at  Rydal  Mount.  In 
a  letter  written  previous  to  his  visit  to  her,  Miss  Mar 
tineau  said,  "  Emerson  is  engaged  (lecturing)  deep  at 
present,  but  hopes  to  come  by  and  by.  He  is  free,  if 
any  man  is."  After  his  visit  a  few  months  later,  she 
wrote,  "  Mr.  Emerson  did  come.  He  spent  a  few  days 
in  February  with  me ;  and,  unfavorable  as  the  weather 
was  for  seeing  the  district,  —  the  fells  and  meadows 
being  in  their  dullest  hay-color  instead  of  green,  —  he 
saw,  in  rides  with  a  neighbor  and  myself,  some  of  the 
most  striking  features  in  the  nearer  scenery.  I  remem 
ber  bringing  him,  one  early  morning,  the  first  green 
spray  of  the  wild  currant,  from  a  warm  nook.  It  was 
a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  have  for  my  guest  one  of  the 
most  honored  of  my  American  hosts,  and  to  find  him 
as  full  as  ever  of  the  sincerity  and  serenity  which  had 
inspired  me  with  so  cordial  a  reverence  twelve  years 
before."2  He  met  Arthur  Hugh  Clough  at  Oxford 
and  in  Paris,  and  became  much  interested  in  that  sin 
gularly  original  genius.  Mrs.  Clough,  in  her  biography 
of  her  husband,  says  his  friendship  with  Emerson  "  was 
then  and  afterwards  very  valuable  to  him."  Crabbe 

1  His  impressions  of  Carlyle  at  this  time,  as  expressed  in  his  letters 
written  home,  were  embodied  in  a  paper  read  before  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society  in  February,  1881,  and  printed  in  the  Transactions  of 
that  society.    It  was  also  printed  in  Scribner's  Monthly  for  May,  18S1, 
p.  89. 

2  Autobiography,  vol.  i.  p.  549. 


118  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

Robinson  heard  Emerson's  lecture  on  the  Laws  of 
Thought,  which  he  says  was  "  one  of  those  rhapsodical 
exercises,  like  Coleridge's  in  his  Table  Talk,  and  Car- 
lyle  in  his  Lectures,  winch  leave  a  dreamy  sense  of 
pleasure  not  easy  to  analyze  or  render  any  account  of." 
The  first  time  Robinson  met  him,  he  became  very  much 
interested.  In  bis  Diary  he  says,  — 

"  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  predetermined  dislike  that  I  had  the 
curiosity  to  look  at  Emerson  at  Lord  Northampton's,  a  fortnight 
ago ;  when,  in  an  instant,  all  my  dislike  vanished.  lie  has  one  of 
the  most  interesting  countenances  I  ever  beheld,  —  a  combination 
of  intelligence  and  sweetness  that  quite  disarmed  me." 

He  heard  Emerson's  lecture  on  Domestic  Life,  and 
says  "his  picture  of  childhood  was  one  of  his  most 
successful  sketches.  I  enjoyed  the  lecture,  he  says, 
which  was,  I  dare  say,  the  most  liberal  ever  heard  in 
Exeter  Hall."  1 

After  his  return  from  Europe,  Emerson  lectured  on 
the  characteristics  of  the  English  people ;  and  these 
lectures  were  received  with  marked  interest  and  ap 
proval.  In  1849  his  miscellaneous  addresses  and  lec 
tures,  together  with  Nature,  were  collected  into  a  vol 
ume,  under  the  title  of  Miscellanies.  The  lectures  he 
had  delivered  extensively  in  England,  as  well  as  at  home, 
were  in  1850  published  as  Representative  Men.  The 
Literary  !ForZc£^expressed  of  this  volume  a  very  common 
opinion  entertained  by  those  who  read  it  at  first,  when 
it  said  this  was  less  visionary  and  metaphysical  than 
his  other  books,  with  more  of  common  sense,  and  pos 
sessed  of  a  kind  of  dramatic  power.  He  is  an  adept  at 
intellectual  characterization,  this  reviewer  said,  but  not 
able  rightly  to  determine  the  ethical  value  of  human 
characters.  His  optimistic  doctrine,  it  is  predicted,  will 
cause  moral  torpidity.  A  writer  in  the  New  Englander 
found  it  "  purely  ridiculous  for  any  one  to  laboriously 
write  out,  and  gravely  read  to  large  assemblies,  such 
gratuitous  absurdities."  A  large  part  of  what  he  had 
written,  according  to  this  critic,  "must  be  little  else 

1  Diary  of  Henry  Crabbe  Robinson,  vol.  ii.  pp.  371.  372. 


LECTURES    AND   ESSAYS.  119 

than  a  caricature  of  himself ; "  while  "it  is  to  be  regretted 
that  one  so  little  given  to  grossness  and  the  reckless 
malignity  of  vulgar  skepticism,  should  yet  be  led  by 
mere  caprice  to  affirm  at  times  many  of  its  most  mon 
strous  and  pernicious  maxims."  His  theory  of  history 
and  of  the  influence  of  the  great  man  was  developed  in 
this  volume.  The  Representative  men  selected,  and  the 
manner  of  portraying  their  influence  on  mankind,  shows 
the  strong  individuality  of  Emerson's  character.  He 
writes  in  a  calmer,  less  passionate  manner  than  Carlyle 
had  done  in  his  portraitures  of  the  world's  heroes.  He 
selects  a  higher  range  of  men  for  his  subjects,  and  he  is 
less  devoted  to  their  praises.  Emerson  sees  the  faults 
of  the  men  of  whom  he  writes,  analyzes  patiently  their 
characters,  and  shows  wherein  their  influence  was  hurt 
ful.  His  unqualified,  acceptance  of  Plato  and  Shaks- 
pere  is  as  marked  as  is  his  criticism  of  Goethe,  Napoleon, 
and  Swedenborg.  His,  personal  interest  in  Swedenborg 
and  Montaigne  led  him  to  select  them  as  the  representa 
tive  mystic  and  skeptic.  His  debt  to  the  Swedish  seer 
may  well  be  noted,  but  his  points  of  wide  divergence 
should  not  be  overlooked.  Swedenborg  knew  too  much 
of  science  and  theology,  and  was  too  much  dominated 
by  them  in  his  thinking,  to  be  a  genuine  mystic.  His 
artificiality  turned  Emerson  away  from  him,  and  made 
men  of  inferior  genius  more  acceptable,  because  more 
natural  and  inspiring. 

In  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  Emile  Montegut  wrote 
of  Emerson  as  an  old  acquaintance,  who  had  been 
studied  with  love  for  his  hatred  of  the  vulgar  and  his 
affection  for  individual  greatness ;  while  the  new  book 
received  a  very  full  and  just  criticism.  He  is  said  to 
have  a  tendency  both  to  mysticism  arid  skepticism  ;  but 
his  mysticism  gives  faith  in  the  moral  law,  and  trust 
that  it  is  only  the  forms  of  things  which  change. 

"It  is  this  confidence  in  the  supreme  ideal,  in  the  eternal  order 
of  the  world,  and  faith  in  the  stability  and  duration  of  the  invisi 
ble,  which  i^  predominant  in  Emerson's  new  book.  Emerson  is 
full  of  calmness  and  tranquillity ;  he  is  almost  naif  in  his  indiffer 
ence,  and  expresses  his  ideas  in  1848  as  he  would  have  expressed 


120  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

them  in  1846,  with  the  same  imperturbable  confidence.  Revolu"  IOT-S 
and  re-actions  intimidate  him  not  at  all,  and  do  not  draw  him  in 
the  least  from  his  convictions.  In  nothing-  does  he  oiler  sacrifice 
to  the  spirit  of  the  moment.  He  speaks  of  Swedenborg  and  PJato 
at  the  moment. when  the  whole  universe  has  ears  only  for  Proudhon 
and  Louis  Blanc.  Ho  prr.i.'e,;  the  skepticism  of  Montaigne  as  if  he 
did  not  live  in  a  century  v/hich  boasts  of  having  the  most  absolute 
philosophies.  He  praise  ;  I  iontaraie  for  his  prudence  and  reserve 
in  the  midst  of  the  most  headstrong  ceulury.  \\  IK-JI  the  minds  of 
men  are  more  stultified  by  a:i  cxcasj  c/i'  philosophic  systems  than 
*-•— -everjbeforc.  All  seems  ailbj  indiiTcrent  to\him.  However,  from 
time  a  vein  of  gentle  irony  shows  beneath  these  metaphysi 
cal  dissertations,  and  a  tolerant  and  polished  skepticism  warns  the 
reader  not  to  accept  the  author  too  implicitly."  Montegut  prefers 
Carlyle  as  a  teacher  of  hero  worship.  lie  says  the  great  man,  as 
Emerson  depicts  him,  is  the  great  man  in  the  antique  sense,  and  is 
the  man  of  genius  in  the  modern  sense.  He  is  the  "  pagan  par  excel 
lence,  the  man  who  holds  his  grace  from  nature.  For  CarJyle,  the 
great  man  is  he  who  has  received  his  mission  from  heaven,  who  must 
express  it  to  others  with  difficulty,  and  obtain  its  triumph  at  his 
own  peril." 

"  Emerson  devotes  himself  especially  to  men  of  genius,  and  loves 
to  contemplate  in  them  the  different  and  the  eminent  types  of 
humanity,  the  men  who  represent  most  powerfully  the  different 
intellectual  forces  of  the  human  mind.  He  admires  the  skeptic 
Montaigne  not  less  than  the  mystic  Swedenborg.  He  leans  to  the 
side  neither  of  the  first  nor  of  the  latter.  For  him  the  eminent 
and  diverse  faculties  of  these  men  are  the  weights  which  keep  in 
equilibrium  the  balance  of  the  mind.  He  loves  to  .seek  for  the 
secret  point  of  affinity  in  which  these  different  gifts  would  combine 
to  form  the  unity  of  the  human  mind  ;  he  loves  to  reflect  on  the 
actions  and  re-actions  of  thought,  which,  nevertheless,  do  not  alter 
at  all  the  original  identity  of  the  soul  and  of  life." x 

In  1852  Kossuth  made  a  tour  through  the  United 
States,  and  was  everywhere  warmly  welcomed.  May 
11  he  visited  Concord.  Emerson  made  an  address  of 
welcome,  in  which  lie  said,  — 

"  Sir,  we  have  watched  with  attention  your  progress  through  the 
land,  the  varying  feeling  with  which  you  have  been  received,  and 
the  unvarying  tone  and  countenance  which  you  have  maintained. 
We  wish  to  discriminate  in  our  regard.  We  wish  to  reserve  our 
honor  for  actions  of  the.  noblest  strain.  We  please  ourselves  that 
in  you  we  meet  one  whose  temper  was  long  since  tried  in  the  fire, 
and  made  equal  to  all  events  ;  a  man  so  truly  in  love  with  the 
greatest  future  that  he  can  not  be  diverted  to  any  less. 

1  In  an  article  on  Hero  Worship.  —  Carlyle  ami  Emerson,  Aug.  15, 
1850. 


LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS.  121 

"It  is  our  republican  doctrine,  too,  that  the  wide  variety  of 
opinions  is  an  advantage.  I  believe  I  may  say  of  the  people  of 
this  country,  at  large,  that  their  sympathy  is  more  worth,  because 
it  stands  the  test  of  party.  It  is  not  a  blind  wave ;  it  is  the  living 
soul  contending  with  living  souls.  It  is,  in  every  expression,  an 
tagonized.  No  opinion  will  pass,  "but  must  stand  the  tug  of  war. 
As  you  see,  the  love  you  win  is  worth  something ;  for  it  has  been 
argued  through  ;  its  foundation  searched ;  it  has  proved  sound  and 
whole  ;  it  may  be  avowed ;  it  will  last ;  and  it  will  draw  all  opinion 
to  itself. 

"  We  have  seen,  with  great  pleasure,  that  there  is  nothing  acci 
dental  in  your  attitude.  We  have  seen  that  you  are  organically  in 
that  cause  you  plead:  The  man  of  freedom,  you  are  also  the  man 
of  fate.  You  do  not  elect,  but  you  are  elected  by  God  and  your 
genius  to  your  task.  We  do  not,  therefore,  affect  to  thank  you. 
We  only  see  in  you  the  angel  of  freedom,  crossing  sea  and  land ; 
crossing  parties,  nationalities,  private  interests,  and  self-esteems  ; 
dividing  populations  where  you  go,  and  drawing  to  your  part  only 
the  good.  We  are  afraid  you  are  growing  popular,  sir ;  you  may 
be  called  to  the  dangers  of  prosperity.  But  hitherto  you  have  had, 
in  all  countries  and  in  all  parties,  only  the  men  of  heart.  I  do 
not  know  but  you  will  have  the  million  yet.  Then,  may  your 
strength  be  equal  to  your  day!  But  remember,  sir,  that  every 
thing  great  and  excellent  in  the  world  is  in  minorities. 

"  Far  be  from  us,  sir,  any  tone  of  patronage  ;  we  ought  rather 
to  ask  yours.  We  know  the  austere  condition  of  liberty,  —  that  it 
must  be  re-conquered  over  and  over  again ;  yea,  day  by  day ;  that  it 
is  a  state  of  war ;  that  it  is  always  slipping  from  those  who  boast 
it,  to  those  who  fight  for  it,  —  and  you,  the  foremost  soldier  of  free 
dom  in  this  age,  it  is  for  us  to  crave  your  judgment.  Who  are  we 
that  we  should  dictate  to  you? 

"  You  have  won  your  own.  We  only  affirm  it.  This  country  of 
workingrnen  greets  in  you  a  worker.  This  republic  greets  in  you 
a  republican.  You  may  well  sit  a  doctor  in  the  college  of  liberty. 
You  have  achieved  your  right  to  interpret  our  Washington.  And 
I  speak  the  sense,  not  only  of  every  generous  American,  but  the 
law  of  mind,  when  I  say,  that  it  is  not  those  who  live  idly  in  the 
city  called  after  his  name,  but  those  who,  all  over  the  world,  think 
and  act  like  him,  who  can  claim  to  explain  the  sentiment  of  Wash 
ington." 

Kossuth  was  welcomed  in  Concord  with  many  dem 
onstrations,  a  dinner,  speeches  in  the  town-hall,  and  a 
procession.  In  the  long  reply  he  made  to  Emerson's 
address  were  these  words  :  — 

"  Your  honored  name  is  Emerson ;  and  Emerson  was  the  name 
c -1  the  man  who,  in  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  turned  out  with  his 
people  on  the  19th  of  April  of  eternal  memory,  when  the  alarm- 


122  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

bell  was  first  rung.  The  words  of  an  Emerson  administered  coun 
sel  and  the  comfort  of  religion  to  the  distressed  then,  and  the  words 
of  an  Emerson  now  speak  the  comfort  of  philosophy  to  the  cause 
of  oppressed  liberty.  I  take  hold  of  that  augury.  Religion  and 
philosophy,  you  blessed  twins,  upon  you  I  rely  with  my  hopes  of 
America.  Religion,  the  philosophy  of  the  heart,  will  make  the 
Americans  generous  ;  and  philosophy,  the  religion  of  the  mind, 
will  make  the  Americans  wise  ;  and  all  I  claim  is  a  generous  wis« 
dom  and  a  wise  generosity." 

Emerson  joined  with  W.  H.  Channing  and  J.  F.  Clarke 
in  writing  the  Memoirs  of  Margaret  Fuller,  which  ap 
peared  in  1852.  He  had  very  reluctantly  made  her 
acquaintance,  distrusting  her  sharp  personality,  and 
having  a  horror  of  those  "  intense  times  "  she  was  re 
ported  to  have  occasionally.  "I  remember,"  he  says, 
"  that  she  made  me  laugh  more  than  I  liked ;  for  I  was 
at  that  time  an  eager  student  of  ethics,  and  had  tasted 
the  sweets  of  solitude  and  stoicism,  and  I  found  some 
thing  profane  in  the  hours  of -amusing  gossip  into  which 
she  drew  me ;  and  when  I  returned  to  my  library  had 
much  to  think  of  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot." 
He  is  writing  of  their  first  visit,  in  July,  1836  ;  but  they 
soon  became  friends,  though  they  never  found  full  sym 
pathy  in  each  other.  She  writes  that  he  was  not  fully 
responsive  to  her  outbursts  of  sentiment,  was  cold  and 
unapproachable ;  while  he  found  in  her  too  much  of  the 
sibyl,  and  did  not  enjoy  "  the  presence  of  a  rather  moun 
tainous  me."'  "She  soon  became,"  he  says,  "an  estab 
lished  friend  and  frequent  inmate  of  our  house,  and 
continued  thenceforward  for  years  to  come  once  in  three 
or  four  months  to  spend  a  week  or  a  fortnight  with  us. 
She  adopted  all  the  people  and  all  the  interests  she  found 
here.  l  Your  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  yonder 
darling  boy  I  shall  cherish  as  my  own.'  Her  ready  sym 
pathies  endeared  her  to  my  wile  and  my  mother,  each 
of  whom  highly  esteemed  her  good  sense  and  sincerity. 
She  suited  each  and  all."  HJ  introduced  her  to  the 
old  English  writers,  and  made  her  "acquainted  with 
Chaucer,  with  Ben  Jonson,  with  Herbert,  Chapman, 
Ford,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  with  Bacon,  and  Sir 
Thomas  Browne.  I  was  seven  years  her  senior,"  he  says, 


LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS.  123 

"  and  had  the  habit  of  idle  reading  in  old  English  books ; 
and,  though  not  much  versed,  yet  quite  enough  to  give 
me  the  right  to  lead  her."  Of  her  peculiar  gifts  he 
says,  — 

"  She  was  an  active,  inspiring  companion  and  correspondent ; 
and  all  the,  art,  the  thought,  and  the  nobleness  in  New  England 
seemed  at  that  moment  related  to  her,  and  she  to  it.  She  was 
everywhere  a  welcome  guest.  The  houses  of  her  friends  in  town 
and  country  were  open  to  her,  and  every  hospitable  attention  eagerly 
offered.  Her  arrival  was  a  holiday,  and  so  was  her  abode.  She 
stayed  a  few  days,  often  a  week,  more  seldom  a  month  ;  and  all 
tasks  that  could  be  suspended  were  put  aside  to  catch  the  favorable 
hour,  in  walking,  riding,  or  boating,  to  talk  with  this  joyful  guest, 
who  brought  wit,  anecdotes,  love-stories,  tragedies,  oracles  with  her, 
and,  with  her  broad  web  of  relations  to  so  many  friends,  seemed 
like  the  queen  of  some  parliament  of  love,  who  carried  the  key  to 
all  confidences,  and  to  whom  every  question  had  been  finally  re 
ferred." 

Emerson  prepared  that  portion  of  the  Memoirs  relat 
ing  to  Margaret's  conversations  in  Boston,  one  of  the 
most  unique  passages  in  the  history  of  American  thought 
and  literature.  He  also  wrote  of  her  life  in  Concord 
and  Boston,  which  was  the  most  interesting  and  sug 
gestive  period  of  her  career.  He  wrote  with  enthusiasm, 
adding  much  to  the  value  of  one  of  the  most  interesting 
of  biographies.  In  her  aspirations  after  a  higher  life 
for  woman  he  fully  shared,  entering  earnestly  into  sym 
pathy  with  all  enterprises  having  that  object  in  view. 
In  1856,  in  an  address  before  the  Woman's  Rights  Con 
vention,  though  criticising  the  efLrt  for  mere  political 
influence,  he  yet  said  that  it  is  for  wrmen,  not  men,  to 
determine  if  women  wish  an  equal  share  in  affairs.  "  If 
we  refuse  them  a  vote,"  lie  said,  u  we  should  refuse  to 
tax  them."  He  found  this  uprising  of  new  opinion  on 
the  subject  of  Avornan's  duties  and  privileges  a  wonder 
ful  fact,  as  showing  the  spontaneous  sense  of  the  hour ; 
for  the  aspiration  of  this  century,  he  yaid,  will  be  the 
code  of  the  next.  A  little  later,  i:i  1802,  when  a  woman's 
journal  was'proposed  to  be  published  in  Boston,  he  wrote 
for  it  a  short  essay,1  that  fully  defines  his  position  on  this 
subject. 

1  As  the  proposed  journal  was  not  started,  the  essay  remained  unpub 
lished  until  it  appeared  in  the  Woman's  Journal  of  March  26,  1881. 


124  RALPH  WALDO   EMERSOX. 

"  It  is  very  cheap  wit,  he  says,  that  finds  it  so  droll  that  a 
woman  should  vote.  Educate  and  refine  society  to  the  highest 
point,  bring  together  a  cultivated  society  of  both  sexes  in  a  draw 
ing-room  to  consult  and  decide  by  voices  in  a  question  of  taste  or 
a  question  of  right,  and  is  there  any  absurdity  or  any  practical 
difficulty  in  obtaining1  their  authentic  opinions?  If  not,  there  need 
be  none  in  a  hundred  companies  if  you  educate  them  and  accustom 
them  to  judge.  And  for  the  elTect  of  it,  I  can  say  for  one,  that 
certainly  all  my  points  would  be  sooner  carried  in  the  state  if  women 
voted. 

"  On  the  questions  that  are  important :  whether  the  government 
shall  be  in  one  person,  or  whether  representative,  or  whether  demo 
cratic  ;  whether  men  shall  be  holden  in  bondage,  or  shall  be  roasted 
alive  and  eaten  as  in  Typee,  or  hunted  with  bloodhounds  as  in  this 
country,  shall  be  hanged  for  stealing,  or  hanged  at  all ;  whether  the 
unlimited  sale  of  cheap  liquors  shall  be  allowed ;  they  would  give, 
I  suppose,  as  intelligent  a  vote  as  the  Irish  voters  of  Boston,  New 
York,  and  Philadelphia.  .  .  . 

"  Here  are  two  or  three  objections  :  first,  want  of  practical  wis 
dom  ;  second,  a  too  purely  ideal  view;  third,  danger  of  contamina 
tion. 

"  For  their  want  of  intimate  knowledge  of  affairs,  I  do  not  think 
this  should  disqualify  them  from  voting  at  any  town-meeting  which 
I  have  ever  attended.  I  could  heartily  wish  the  objection  were 
sound.  But  if  any  man  Will  take  the  trouble  to  see  how  our  people 
vote,  —  how  many  gentlemen  are  willing  to  take  on  themselves  the 
trouble  of  thinking  and  determining  for  you,  and,  standing  at  the 
doors  of  the  polls,  give  every  innocent  citizen  his  ticket  as  he  comes 
in,  informing  him  that  this  is' the  vote  of  his  party  ;  and  the  inno 
cent  citizen,  without  further  demur,  carries  it  to  the  ballot-box ;  I 
can  not  but  think  that  most  women  might  vote  as  wisely." 

"  For  the  other  point,  of  their  not  knowing  the  world,  and  aim 
ing  at  abstract  right  without  allowance  for  circumstances,  —  that  is 
not  a  disqualification,  but  a  qualification.  Human  society  is  made 
up  of  partialities.  Each  citizen  has  an  interest  and  view  of  his 
own,  which,  if  followed  out  to  the  extreme,  would  leave  no  room 
for  any  other  citizen.  One  man  is  timid,  and  another  rash;  one 
would  change  nothing,  and  the  other  is  pleased  with  nothing;  one 
wishes  schools,  another,  armies;  one,  gunboats,  another,  public 
gardens.  Bring  all  these  biases  together,  and  something  is  done  in 
favor  of  them  all.  Every  one  i;j  a  hali-vota ;  but  the  next  elector 
behind  him  brings  the  other  or  corresponding  half  in  his  hand.  A 
reasonable  result  is  had.  Xow,  there  is  no  lack,  I  am  sure,  of  the 
expediency,  or  of  the  interest  of  trade,  or  of  imperative  class 
interests  being  neglected.  There  is  no  lack  of  votes  representing 
the  physical  wants  ;  and  if  in  your  city  the  uneducated  emigrant- 
vote  numbers  thousands,  representing  a  brutal  ignorance  ai  d  mere 
physical  wants,  it  is  to  be  corrected  by  an  educated  and  religious 
vote  representing  the  desires  of  honest  and  refined  persons.  Jf  the 
wants,  the  passions,  the  vices,  are  allowed  a  full  vote,  through  the 


LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS.  125 

hands  of  a  half-brutal,  intemperate  population,  I  think  it  but  fair 
that  the  virtues,  the  aspirations,  should  be  allowed  a  full  vote  as  an 
offset,  through  the  purest  of  the  people.  As  for  the  unsexing  and 
contamination,  —  that  only  accuses  our  existing  politics,  shows  how 
barbarous  we  are,  that  our  policies  are  so  crooked,  made  up  of 
things  not  to  be  spoken,  to  be  understood  only  by  wink  and  nudge ; 
this  man  is  to  be  coaxed,  and  that  man  to  be  bought,  and  that 
other  to  be  duped.  .  .  . 

"  I  do  not  think  it  yet  appears  that  women  wish  this  equal  share 
in  public  affairs.  But  it  is  they,  and  not  we,  that  are  to  determine 
it.  Let  the  laws  be  purged  of  every  barbarous  remainder,  every 
barbarous  impediment  to  women.  Let  the  public  donations  for 
education  be  equally  shared  by  them.  Let  them  enter  a  school  as 
freely  as  a  church.  Let  them  have  and  hold  and  give  their  prop 
erty  as  men  do  theirs,  and  in  a  few  years,  it  will  easily  appear 
whether  they  wish  a  voice  in  making  the  laws  that  are  to  govern 
them.  If  you  do  refuse  them  a  vote,  you  will  also  refuse  to  tax 
them,  according  to  our  Teutonic  principles,  —  no  representation, 
no  tax.  .  .  . 

"  The  new  movement  is  a  tide  shared  by  the  spirits  of  men  and 
women.  You  may  proceed  on  the  faith  that  whatever  the  woman's 
heart  is  prompted  to  desire,  the  man's  mind  is  simultaneously 
prompted  to  accomplish." 

In  1856  his  English  Traits  was  published,  and  was 
well  received  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  It  is  a  fine 
analysis  of  the  leading  characteristics  of  a  great  nation, 
remarkable  for  its  subtle  discriminations  and  for  its 
clear  insight  into  national  tendencies.  Hawthorne  and 
Taine  have  written  valuable  and  interesting  books 
about  England ;  but  they  are  descriptive  and  sketchy, 
not  to  be  compared  with  English  Traits  as  studies  of 
the  nation  itself.  They  describe  locations  and  phases 
of  society;  they  do  not  enter  upon  an  analysis  of 
the  national  life,  or  describe  the  qualities  which  have 
made  that  nation  one  of  the  greatest  in  modern  times. 
Tocqueville's  Democracy  in  America  is  a  discussion  of 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  and  its  workings ; 
English  Traits  describes  a  people.  Miss  Martineau's 
first  book  about  the  United  States  comes  nearer  than 
any  other  to  Emerson's,  and  yet  it  partakes  much  more 
of  the  natuTe  of  a  book  of  travels.  She  wrote  with  a 
much  more  limited  purpose,  and  she  gave  greater  at 
tention  to  special  phases  of  national  character.  The 


126  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

merits  of  English  Traits  have  obtained  it  the  recogni 
tion  of  translation  into  several  of  the  leading  European 
languages. 

In  March,  1856,  he  gave  a  course  of  lectures  in  Free 
man-place  Chapel,  Boston.  The  subjects  were  English 
Civilization,  France,  Signs  of  the  Times,  Beauty,  The 
Poet,  The  Scholar.  The  lecture  on  France  was  greatly 
admired  by  those  who  heard  it,  and  was  thought  to  be 
quite  equal  to  English  Traits.  He  has  always  refused 
to  print  it,  and  has  not  repeated  it  of  late  years. 
Another  lecture  of  this  period  was  one  on  the  Anglo- 
American  Race,  delivered  in  New  York  in  1855.  It 
was  a  subtle  analysis  of  the  American  character,  similar 
to  those  of  the  English  and  French  made  at  the  same 
time. 

Every  thing  in  America,  he  said,  proceeds  at  a  rapid  rate ;  the 
next  moment  eats  the  last.  Whatever  we  do,  suffer,  or  propose,  is 
for  the  immediate  entertainment  of  the  company.  We  have  a 
newspaper  published  every  hour  through  the  day,  and  our  whole 
existence  and  performance  slides  into  it.  The  leading  features  of 
the  Americans  are  best  seen  at  the  West,  where  the  people  have 
free  play.  If  you  would  see  the  American,  it  is  said  you  must 
cross  the  Alleghanies.  Rashness  marks  every  thing  there.  The 
men  can  not  be  depended  on  there,  nor  their  works.  Every  thing 
wears  a  new  aspect.  The  men  have  not  shed  their  canine  teeth. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  race  has  always  been  distinguished  for  its 
devotion  to  politics.  In  this  country  a  prodigious  stride  has  been 
taken  through  universal  suffrage.  The  fact  that  everybody  is  eli 
gible  exasperates  the  discussion.  Practically,  the  result  has  been 
that  men  of  the  middle  class  have  been  elected,  and  by  no  means 
men  of  the  first  class ;  and  this  practice  has  gained  much  of  late. 
It  is  certainly  desirable  that  the  best  and  wisest  men  should  be 
trusted  with  the  helm  of  power. 

The  American  is  more  intellectual  than  the  Englishman ;  he  has 
chambers  opened  in  his  mind  which  the  Englishman  has  not.  The 
American  is  a  pushing,  versatile,  victorious  race,  with  a  wonderful 
power  of  absorption.  Here  is  a  grave  interest,  —  the  fortune  of  a 
quarter  of  the  world,  and  of  a  race  as  important  as  any  in  it. 
Everybody  here  works  every  day  and  night,  and  nobody  knows 
whither  we  are  drifting,  or  can  chant  the  destiny  of  America. 
But  two  facts  appear ;  first,  in  the  activity  of  the  people  up  to  this 
time  there  is  a  certain  fatalism.  The  people  being  associated  with 
pine,  chestnut,  iron,  coal,  and  ice,  they  have  wrought  in  these, 
and  they  have  done  the  best  they  could.  In  short,  they  have  been 
the  river-hand  and  the  sea-hand.  On  the  coast  they  have  fol- 


LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS.  127 

lowed  the  sea;  in  the  West  they  have  followed  the  river.  But 
the  verdict  of  history  is,  that  they  have  not  kept  the  promise  of 
their  founders.  They  have  shown  no  enlarged  policy.  A  liberal 
measure  has  no  chance.  On  education,  temperance,  copyright,  and 
on'the  claims  of  injured  parties,  the  Anglo- American  usually  gives 
a  selfish  verdict.  What  can  be  worse  than  our  legislation  on 
slavery  ?  If  there  be  any  worse,  be  sure  we  shall  find  it  out,  and 
make  that  law.  The  tone  of  the  press  is  not  lower  on  slavery  than 
on  every  other  subject.  Criminal  on  that,  it  is  ready  to  be  crimi 
nal  on  every  other. 

Our  statesmen  are  not  men  of  ideas.  They  represent  property 
rather  than  principle.  They  follow  the  sea  or  the  river.  But  we 
have  much  individualism  ;  and  in  this  fact,  as  well  as  that  we  have 
a  highly  intellectual  organization,  and  can  see  and  feel  moral  dis 
tinctions,  and  that  on  such  an  organization  sooner  or  later  truth 
must  tell,  and  to  such  ears  speak,  is  our  hope.  And  as  we  have 
been  subject  to  fate  in  corn  and  cotton,  yet  there  is  fate  in  thought 
also  ;  so  that  the  largest  thought  and  widest  love  is  born  with  vic 
tory  on  its  head,  and  must  prevail.1 

The  lecture  on  the  Natural  Method  of  Intellectual 
Philosophy,  delivered  at  this  time,  contained  a  very  fully 
developed  account  of  his  own  philosophical  views.  In 
1852  he  lectured  on  Natural  Aristocracy.  The  essay  on 
Poetry  in  Letters  and  Social  Aims  was  read  at  Cambridge 
in  1854.  A  number  of  the  university  students  went  in 
sleighs  to  Concord,  where  he  was  announced  to  lecture. 
From  some  local  cause  the  lecture  was  postponed. 
Emerson  was  worried  that  they  should  have  had  their 
fifteen  miles'  ride  end  in  a  disappointment,  took  them 
to  his  home,  entertained  them  through  the  evening,  and 
promised  to  go  to  Cambridge  and  lecture  for  them.  He 
went,  and  spoke  on  poetry,  having  Lowell,  Longfellow, 
and  other  poets  in  his  audience.  The  lecture  was  given 
in  one  of  the  university  rooms,  and  its  "  effect  was  elec 
trical."  2  In  1859  he  lectured  on  Morals,  Conversation, 
Culture,  Domestic  Life,  and  Natural  Religion.  He  gave 
a  course  in  Freeman-place  Chapel,  Boston,  on  the  Law 
of  Success,  Originality,  Criticism,  Clubs,  Manners,  and 
Morals.  He  attended  a  Burns  festival  in  Boston  this 
year,  Jan.  25,  it  being  the  one  hundredth  anniversary 
of  the  poet's  birth.  Lowell  was  present,  and  has  said, 

1  From  a  newspaper  report.  2  M.  D.  Conway  ii?  Fraser's  Magazine. 


128  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

that,  in  the  "  closely  filled  speech  of  his  at  the  Burns 
centenary  dinner,  every  word  seemed  to  have  just  dropped 
down  to  him  from  the  clouds.  He  looked  far  away  over 
the  heads  of  his  hearers  with  a  vague  kind  of  expecta 
tion,  as  into  some  private  heaven  of  invention,  and  the 
winged  period  came  at  last  to  obey  the  spell.  4  My 
dainty  Ariel ! '  he  seemed  murmuring  to  himself  as  he 
cast  down  his  eyes  as  if  Li  deprecation  of  the  frenzy  of 
applause,  ai:d  caught  another  sentence  from  the  sibyline 
leaves  that  lay  befi.re  Lira  ambushed  behind  a  dish  of 
fruit,  and  seen  only  by  nearest  neighbors.  Every  sen 
tence  brought  down  the  house  as  I  never  saw  one  brought 
down  before ;  and  it  is  not  so  easy  to  hit  Scotsmen  with 
a  sentiment  that  has  no  hint  of  native  brogue  in  it.  I 
watched  —  for  it  was  an  interesting  study  —  how  the 
quick  sympathy  ran  flashing  from  face  to  face  down  the 
long  tables  like  an  electric  spark,  thrilling  as  it  went, 
and  then  exploded  in  a  thunder  of  plaudits.  I  watched 
till  tables  and  faces  vanished ;  for  I,  too,  found  myself 
caught  up  in  the  common  enthusiasm,  and  my  excited 
fancy  set  me  .under  the  bema  listening  to  him  who  ful- 
mined  over  Greece."  This  eloquent  and  magnetic  speech 
was  closed  with  this  testimony  to  the  power  of  Burns's 
poetry  and  the  expansiveness  of  his  fame  :  — 

"  The  memory  of  Burns,  —  I  am  afraid  heaven  and  earth  have 
taken  too  good  care  of  it  to  leave  us  any  thing  to  say.  The  west 
winds  are  murmuring  it.  Open  the  windows  behind  you,  and 
hearken  for  the  incoming  tide,  —  what  the  waves  say  of  it.  The 
doves  perching  always  on  the  eaves  of  the  stone  chapel  opposite 
may  know  something  about  it.  I" very  name  in  broad  Scotland 
keeps  his  fame  bright.  The  memory  of  Burns,  —  every  man's  and 
boy's  and  girl's  head  carry  snatches  of  his  .song's,  and  can  say  them 
by  heart ;  and,  what  is  strangest  of  all,  never  learned  them  from  a 
book,  but  from  mouth  to  mouth.  The  wind  whispers  them,  the 
birds  whistle  them,  the  corn,  barley,  and  bulrushes  hoarsely  rustle 
them ;  nay,  the  music-boxes  at  Geneva  are  framed  and  toothed  to 
play  them,  the  hand-organs  of  the  Savoyards  in  all  cities  repeat 
them,  and  the  chimes  of  bells  ring  them^in  the  spires.  They  are 
the  property  and  the  solace  of  mankind." 

In  1860  The  Conduct  of  Life  was  published.  Its 
essays,  as  usual,  had  been  delivered  as  lectures  during 


LECTURES   AND    ESSAYS.  129 

the  previous  half-dozen  years.  It  contains  some  of  his 
most  practical,  as  well  as  some  of  his  most  philosophical, 
essays.  It  is,  as  a  whole,  less  mystical  than  his  previous 
books,  and  consequently  loses  some  of  the  finest  flavor 
of  his  thought.  The  essays  on  Fate,  Worship,  Illusions, 
and  Considerations  by  the  Way  are  among  his  very  best, 
however,  giving  important  additions  to  his  philosophic 
thought.  As  usual  this  book  received  the  most  unmer 
ciful  treatment  from  some  of  the  critics.  Noah  Porter 
said,  in  The  New  Englander,  that  the  writer  did  not  know 
enough  of  religion  to  speak  upon  it  with  authority ;  and 
wrote  of  "the  utter  shallowness  and  flippancy  of  the 
judgments  Emerson  expresses  concerning  Christianity." 
"  Of  all  the  descriptions,"  this  critic  says,  "  we  have  ever 
read  of  the  merciless  and  remorseless  absolutism  of  a 
universe  of  impersonal  law,  this  strikes  us  as  the  most 
horrible."  The  English  Saturday  Review  was  even  more 
severe,  for  it  said,  — 

"  He  manages  to  write  what  the  crowds  which  throng  American 
lecture-rooms  appear,  for  some  strange  reason,  to  relish;  and  he 
continues  to  put  it  in  an  unintelligible  form.  By  these  two  feats 
he  secures  a  popularity  which  there  is  no  other  way  of  explaining. 
That  an  American  audience  likes  to  hear  the  dreariest  of  all  dreary 
platitudes  when  they  are  strung  together  in  what  is  called  an  oration, 
is  a  fact  attested  by  credible  proof,  and  must  be  believed  like  any 
other  strange  "circumstance  which  rests  on  that  authority.  That, 
being  in  that  state  of  mind,  mystical  language  should  please  them 
is  what  experience  would  suggest,  if,  indeed,  experience  applies  to 
people  who  like  orations.  It  is  inconceivable  that  Mr.  Emerson 
should  have  any  claims  to  any  higher  reputation  than  this."  He 
is  also  described  as  "  so  commonplace  a  writer,"  who  "  intersperses 
his  dreary  platitudes  with  downright  nonsense." 

His  previous  books  had  sold  very  slowly,  but  twenty- 
five  hundred  copies  of  The  Conduct  of  Life  were  disposed 
of  in  two  days  after  its  publication.  There  were  many 
other  tokens  of  his  growing  favor.  His  books  were 
received,  both  at  home  and  abrcad,  with  many  new  signs 
of  approval ;  while  the  circle  of  his  admirers  constantly 
increased!  In  1850  Parker  wrote  of  him  as  "the  most 
original  thinker  we  have  produced  in  America ;  a  man 
of  wonderful  gifts."  In  1857  he  says  in  one  of  his 


130  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

letters,  "  Emerson  has  touched  the  deepest  strings  on 
the  human  heart,  and,  ten  centuries  after  he  is  immor 
tal,  will  wake  the  music  which  he  first  waked." 

In  a  carefully  discriminating  article,  which  does  not 
spare  Emerson's  faults,  and  yet  is  full  of  sympathetic 
admiration,  Parker  says,  — 

"  He  has  not  uttered  a  word  that  irs  false  to  his  own  mind  or  con 
science  ;  has  not  suppressed  a  vrord  because  he  thought  it  too  high 
for  man's  comprehension,  and  therefore  dangerous  for  the  repose 
of  men.  He  never  compromises.  lie  sees  the  chasm  between  the 
ideas  which  come  of  man's  nature  and  the  institutions  which  rep 
resent  only  his  history ;  he  does  not  seek  to  cover  up  the  chasm, 
which  daily  grows  wider  between  truth  and  public  opinion,  between 
justice  and  the  state,  between  Christianity  and  the  church  ;  he  does 
not  seek  to  fill  it  up,  but  he  asks  men  to  step  over  and  build  insti 
tutions  commensurate  with  their  ideas.  He  trusts  himself,  trusts 
man,  and  trusts  God.  He  has  confidence  in  all  the  attributes  of 
Infinity.  Hence  he  is  serene ;  nothing  disturbs  the  even  poise  of 
his  character,  and  he  walks  erect.  Nothing  impedes  him  in  his 
search  for  the  true,  the  lovely  and  the  good ;  110  private  hope,  no 
private  fear,  no  love  of  wife  or  child  or  gold  or  ease  or  fame.  He 
never  seeks  his  own  reputation;  he  takes  care  of  his  being,  and 
leaves  his  seeming  to  take  care  of  itself.  Fame  may  seek  him  ;  he 
never  goes  out  of  his  way  a  single  inch  for  her. 

"  He  has  not  written  a  line  which  is  not  conceived  in  the  inter 
est  of  mankind.  He  never  writes  in  the  interest  of  a  section,  of 
a  party,  of  a  church,  of  a  man,  always  in  the  interest  of  mankind. 
Hence  comes  the  ennobling  influence  of  his  works.  Emerson 
belongs  to  the  "exceptional  literature  of  the  times  ;  and,  while  his 
culture  joins  him  to  the  history  of  man,  his  ideas  and  his  whole 
life  enable  him  to  represent  also  the  nature  of  man,  and  so  tr  write 
for  the  future.  He  is  one  of  the  rare  exceptions  amongst  our  edu 
cated  men,  and  helps  redeem  American  literature  from  the  charge 
of  imitation,  conformity,  meanness  of  aim,  and  hostility  to  the 
powers  of  mankind.  No  faithful  man  is  too  low  for  his  approval 
and  encouragement ;  no  faithless  man  too  high  and  popular  for  his 
rebuke." 

This  is  one  of  Parker's  best  critical  articles,1  as  well 
as  one  of  the  best  papers  ever  written  about  Emerson. 
Parker  is  especially  fascinated  with  the  original  and 
American  cast  of  Emerson's  mind;  and  calls  him  "  the 
most  republican  of  republicans,  the  most  protestant  of 

1  Massachusetts  Quarterly  Review  for  1849,  reprinted  in  Miss  Cobbe's 
edition  of  his  collected  works,  vol.  x.  p.  190. 


LECTURES   AND   ESSAYS.  131 

the  dissenters."  His  culture  is  cosmopolitan,  has  no 
varnish  about  it ;  but  it  has  penetrated  deep  into  his 
consciousness  Parker  finds  he  belongs  to  a  very  high 
rank  in  literature.  "  He  is  a  very  extraordinary  man. 
To  no  English  writer  since  Milton,  can  be  assigned  so 
high  a  place  ;  even  Milton  himself,  great  genius  though 
he  was,  and  great  architect  of  beauty,  has  not  added  so 
many  thoughts  to  the  treasury  of  the  race  ;  no,  nor  been 
the  author  of  so  much  loveliness.  Emerson  is  a  man  of 
genius  such  as  does  not  often  appear ;  such  as  has  never 
appeared  before  in  America,  and  but  seldom  in  the 
world.  He  learns  from  all  sorts  of  men ;  but  no  Eng 
lish  writer,  we  think,  is  so  original."  These  opinions 
of  Parker's  have  lost  none  of  their  force  since  they  were 
written,  and  are  far  truer  now  than  then ;  while  they 
would  be  accepted  by  a  much  larger  number  of  persons. 
The  years  since  they  were  written  have  fully  confirmed 
his  high  estimate  of  the  genius  of  Emerson. 


132  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 


X. 

THE   ANTI-SLAVERY  MOVEMENT. 

'MERSON  early  gave  his  sympathies  to  the  move- 
Lja&iit  against  slavery.  When  no  oilier  church  in 
Boston  was  open  to  the  friends  of  liberty,  May  and 
others  spoke  in  his ;  and  he  was  even  ready  to  welcome 
Garrison  there.  In  the  Transcendental  Club,  when 
others  held  aloof  from  sympathy  with  this  movement, 
he  deiended  it,  and  expressed  his  faith  in  Garrison. 
Though  i:ot  himself  inclined  to  adopt  the  methods  of 
the  radical  agitators,  he  could  but  feel  they  were  in  the 
right  i:i  tlici:1  aims,  and  that  they  represented  the  high 
est  moral  sense  of  the  community.  HL;  tendencies  of 
thought  led  him  in  another  direction  to  secure  the  same 
ends,  but  to  this  great  reform  he  gave  such  help  as  he 
could ;  and  Ins  influence  on  his  times,  the  real  spirit 
and  purpose  of  the  man,  are  not  likely  to  be  understood 
without  a  knowledge  of  his  relations  to  this  agitation. 
He  Iiad  but  little  faith  in  external  methods  of  reform, 
ai-d  dwl  iioX-^LiiaJ^nrjLuJb.JlQllld_be  done  by  legislation. 
Hisjjiith  wa.;  i-j_the  mol>al  an(j  spiritual  influences  which 
lead  Hen  out"" of  p^oirnjind  selfishness,,  hut  hfi  o.onld 
not  feel  tlint  selfish  lie...;  was  to  be  opposed  with  hatred. 
It  wasoecause  the  life  of  the  American  people  was  low, 
vulgar,  mean,  that  slavery  was  possible  ;  and  he  thought 
slavery  could  or.ly  be  gotten  rid  of  by  raising  the  moral 
standard,  a::d  by  a  larger  appreciation  of  the  human 
•soul.  Though  little  inclined  to  the  ordinary  methods 
of  reform,  Harriet  Martin eau  testifies  to  his  early  es 
pousal  of  the  caitoC  of  the  slave,  when  almost  no  one  in 
B<;.(o:i  wu.;  icady  to  plead  in  behalf  of  justice  and 
humanity.  In  speaking  of  how  prone  public  men  were 
to  shrink  from  the  defense  of  a  new  and  hated  cause, 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY   MOVEMENT.  1C3 

she  says  all  were  not  so,  but  some  were  eager  and  glad 
in  this  good  work. 

"  The  Emersons,  for  instance  (for  the  adored  Charles  Emerson 
was  living  then),  they  were  not  men  to  join  an  association  for  any 
object,  and  least  of  all  for  any  moral  one  ;  nor  were  they  likely  to 
quit  their  abstract  meditations  for  a  concrete  employment  on  belialf 
of  the  negroes.  Yet  they  did  that  which  made  me  feel  that  I  knew 
them,  through  the  very  cause  in  which  they  did  not  implicate  them 
selves.  At  the  time  of  the  hubbub  against  me  in  Boston,  Charles 
Emerson  stood  alone  in  a  large  company  in  defense  of  the  right 
of  free  thought  and  speech,  and  declared  that  he  had  rather  see 
Boston  in  ashes  than  that  I  or  anybody  should  be  debarred  in  ar;y 
way  from  perfectly  free  speech.  His  brother  Waldo  invited  me  to  be 
his  guest  in  the  midst  of  my  unpopularity,  and  during  my  virit  told 
me  his  course  about  this  matter  of  slavery.  He  did  not  see  that 
there  was  any  particular  thing  for  him  to  do  in  it  then  ;  but  when,  in 
coaches  or  steamboats  or  anywhere  else,  he  saw  people  of  co^or  ill- 
used,  or  heard  bad  doctrine  or  sentiment  propounded,  he  did  what 
he  could  and  said  what  ho  thought.  Since  that  elate  he  has  spoken 
more  abundantly  and  boldly  the  more  critical  the  times  became ; 
and  he  is  now,  and  has  long  been,  completely  identified  with  the 
abolitionists  in  conviction  and  sentiment,  though  it  is  out  of  his 
wTay  to  join  himself  to  their  organization."  1 

This  was  in  1835,  and  ho  continued  to  maintain  the 
same  position  for  many  years,  His  address  at  Concord 
in  1844,  however,  on  the  anniversary  of  emancipation 
in  the  West  Indies,  distinctly  put  him  in  the  c:  mpany " 
of  the  abolitionists.  It  was  an  eloquent  and  forcible 
history  of  the  agitation  against  slavery  in  England,  and 
of  the  results  of  its  abolition  in  the  colonies,  with  a 
plea,  drawn  from  these  facts,  for  abolition  at  home.  "  I 
might  well  hesitate,"  he  says  at  the  outset,  "  coming  from 
other  studies,  and  without  the  smallest  claim  to  be  a 
special  laborer  in  this  work  of  humanity,  to  undertake 
to  set  this  matter  before  you ;  but  I  shall  not  apologize 
for  my  weakness."  u  I  am  heart-sick,"  he  goes  0*1  to 
say,  "  when  I  read  how  the  slaves  came  into  slavery,  and 
how  they  are  kept  there ;  for  language  must  be  raked, 
the  secrets  of  slaughter-houses  and  infamous  holes  that 
can  not  front  the  day  must  be  ransacked,  to  tell  what 
negro  slavery  has  been."  He  pictured  in  glowing  and 

1  Autobiography  of  Harriet  Martineau,  vol.  i.  p.  375. 


134  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

indignant  words  the  evils  of  slavery,  and  held  up  to 
scorn  the  cowardice  of  the  men  of  Massachusetts  and 
New  England  in  their  betrayal  of  the  interests  of  lib 
erty  ;  and  he  did  not  spare  the  senators  and  representa 
tives  who  had  submitted  to  the  slave-power.  His  atti 
tude  toward  this  cause  may  be  best  seen  in  the  closing 
paragraphs  of  the  address :  — 

"  I  have  said  that  this  event  interests  us  because  it  came  mainly 
from  the  concession  of  the  whites.  I  add,  that  in  part  it  is  the 
earning  of  the  blacks.  They  won  the  pity  and  respect  which  they 
have  received  by  their  powers  and  native  endowments.  I  think 
this  a  circumstance  of  the  highest  import.  Their  whole  future  is 
in  it.  Our  planet,  before  the  age  of  written  history,  had  its  races 
of  savages,  like  the  generations  of  so*ur  paste,  or  the  animalcules 
that  wriggle  and  bite  in  a  drop  of  putrid  water.  Who  cares  for 
these  or  for  their  wars  ?  We  do  not  wish  a  wrorld  of  bugs  or  of 
birds;  neither  afterward  of  Scythians,  Caribs,  or  Feejees.  The 
grand  style  of  nature,  her  great  periods,  is  all  we  observe  in  them. 
Who  cares  for  oppressing  whites  or  oppressed  blacks  twenty  centu 
ries  ago,  more  than  for  bad  dreams  ?  Eaters  and  food  are  in  the 
harmony  of  nature ;  and  there,  too,  is  the  germ  for  ever  protected, 
unfolding  gigantic  leaf  after  leaf,  a  newer  flower,  a  richer  fruit,  in 
every  period,  yet  its  next  product  is  never  to  be  guessed.  It  will 
only  save  what  is  worth  saving;  and  it  saves,  not  by  compassion,  but 
by  power.  It  appoints  no  police  to  guard  the  lion  but  his  teeth  and 
claws,  no  fort  or  city  for  the  bird  but  his  wings,  no  rescue  for  flies 
and  mites  but  their  spawning  numbers,  which  no  ravages  can  over 
come.  It  deals  with  men  after  the  same  manner.  If  they  are  rude 
and  foolish,  down  they  must  go.  When  at  last  in  a  race  a  new  prin 
ciple  appears,  —  an  idea,  —  that  conserves  it ;  ideas  onl^  save  races. 
If  the  black  man  is  feeble,  and  not  important  to  the  existing  races, 
not  on  a  parity  with  the  best  race,  the  black  man  must  serve,  and  be 
exterminated.  But  if  the  black  man  carries  in  his  bosom  an  indis 
pensable  element  of  a  new  and  coming  civilization,  for  the  sake  of 
that  element  no  wrong  nor  strength  nor  circumstance  can  hurt  him ; 
he  will  survive,  and  play  his  part.  So  now  the  arrival  in  the  world 
of  such  men  as  Toussaint  and  the  Haytian  heroes,  or  of  the  leaders 
of  their  race  in  Barbadoes  and  Jamaica,  outweighs  in  good  omen 
all  the  English  and  American  humanity.  The  anti-slavery  of  the 
whole  world  is  dust  in  the  balance  before  this,  —  is  a  poor  squeam- 
ishness  and  nervousness ;  and  might  and  the  right  are  here.  Here 
is  the  anti-slave ;  here  is  man ;  and  if  you  have  man,  black  or  white 
is  an  insignificance.  The  intellect,  that  is  miraculous  I  Who  has 
it  has  the  talisman.  His  skin  and  bones,  though  they  were  of  the 
color  of  night,  are  transparent;  and  the  everlasting  stars  shine 
through  with  attractive  beams.  But  a  compassion  for  that  which 
is  not  and  can  not  be  useful  and  lovely  is  degrading  and  futile.  All 


THE   ANTI-SLAVERY   MOVEMENT.  135 

the  songs  and  newspapers  and  money  subscriptions  and  vituperation 
of  such  as  do  not  think  with  us  will  avail  nothing  against  a  fact. 
I  say  to  you,  you  must  save  yourself,  black  or  white,  man  or  woman ; 
other  help  is  none.  I  esteem  the  occasion  of  this  jubilee  to  be  the 
proud  discovery  that  the  black  race  can  contend  with  the  white 
race ;  that,  in  the  great  anthem  we  call  history,  a  piece  of  many 
parts  and  vast  compass,  after  playing  a  long  time  a  very  low  and 
subdued  accompaniment,  they  perceive  the  time  arrived  when  they 
can  strike  in  with  effect,  and  take  a  master's  part  in  the  music. 
The  civility  of  the  world  has  reached  that  pitch  that  then"  more 
moral  genius  is  becoming  indispensable,  and  the  quality  of  this 
race  is  to  be,  honored  for  itself.  For  this  they  have  been  preserved 
in  sandy  deserts,  in  rice-swamps,  in  kitchens  and  shoe-shops,  so 
long ;  now  let  them  emerge,  clothed  and  in  their  own  form. 

"  There  remains  the  very  elevated  consideration  which  the  sub 
ject  opens,  but  which  belongs  to  more  abstract  views  than  we  are 
now  taking ;  this,  namely,  that  the  civility  of  no  race  can  be  per 
fect  wiiilst  another  race  is  degraded.  It  is  a  doctrine  alike  of  the 
oldest  and  of  the  newest  philosophy,  that  man  is  one,  and  that  you 
can  not  injure  any  member  without  a  sympathetic  injury  to  all  'the 
members.  America  is  not  civil  whilst  Africa  is  barbarous. 

"  These  considerations  seem  to  leave  no  choice  for  the  action  of 
the  intellect  and  the  conscience  of  the  country.  There  have  been 
moments  in  this,  as  well  as  in  every  piece  of  moral  history,  when 
there  seemed  room  for  the  infusions  of  a  skeptical  philosophy; 
when  it  seemed  doubtful  whether  brute  force  would  not  triumph  in 
the  eternal  struggle.  I  doubt  not  that  sometimes  a  despairing 
negro,  when  jumping  over  a  ship's  sides  to  escape  from  the  white 
devils  who  surrounded  him,  has  believed  there  was  no  vindication 
of  right;  it  is  horrible  to  think  of,  but  it  seemed  so.  I  doubt 
not  that  sometimes  the  negro's  friend,  in  the  face  of  scornful  and 
brutal  hundreds  of  traders  and  drivers,  has  felt  his  heart  sink. 
Especially,  it  seems  to  me,  some  degree  of  despondency  is  pardon 
able  when  he  observes  the  men  of  conscience  and  intellect,  his  own 
natural  allies  and  champions,  —  those  whose  attention  should  be 
nailed  to  the  grand  objects  of  this  cause,  —  so  hotly  offended  by 
whatever  incidental  petulances  or  infirmities  of  indiscreet  defenders 
of  the  negro  as  to  permit  themselves  to  be  ranged  with  the  enemies 
of  the  human  race ;  and  names  which  should  be  the  alarums  of 
liberty  and  the  watchwords  of  truth  are  mixed  up  with  all  the 
rotten  rabble  of  selfishness  and  tyranny.  I  assure  myself  that  this 
coldness  and  blindness  will  pass  away.  A  single  noble  wind  of 
sentiment  will  scatter  them  for  ever.  I  am  sure  that  the  good  and 
wise  elders,  the  ardent  and  generous  youth,  will  not  permit  what  is 
incidental  and  exceptional  to  withdraw  their  devotion  from  the 
essential  and  permanent  characters  of  the  question.  There  have 
been  momfents,  I  said,  when  men  might  be  forgiven  who  doubted. 
Those  moments  are  past.  Seen  in  masses,  it  can  not  be  disputed, 
there  is  progress  in  human  society.  There  is  a  blessed  necessity 
by  which  the  interest  of  men  is  always  driving  them  to  the  right ; 


136  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSOX. 

and,  again,  making  all  crime  mean  and  ugly.  The  genius  of  the 
Saxon  race,  friendly  to  liberty ;  the  enterprise,  the  very  muscular 
vigor  of  this  nation,  are  inconsistent  with  slavery.  The  intellect, 
with  blazing  eye,  looking  through  history  from  the  beginning 
onward,  gazes  on  this  blot,  and  it  disappears.  The  sentiment  of 
light,  once  very  low  and  indistinct,  but  ever  more  articulate  because 
it  is  the  voice  of  the  universe,  pronounces  freedom.  The  Power 
that  built  this  fabric  of  things  ainrms  it  in  the  heart,  and  in  the 
history  of  the  first  of  August  has  made  a  sign  to  the  ages  of  his 
will." 

In  the  heated  discussions  of  slavery,  which  followed 
during  the  next  dozen  years,  Emerson  found  himself  in 
sympathy  with  the  Free-Soil_pa^rty.  In  1852,  when 
Clough  visited  Concord,  he  wrote,  "  I  had  Abolition 
well  out  with  Emerson,  with  whom  one  can  talk  with 
pleasure  on  the  subject.  His  view  is  in  the  direction 
of  purchasing  emancipation."  Still  later  in  the  year, 
Clough  wrote  that  "  Emerson  is  a  Free-Soiler."  The 
year  before,  when  John  Gorham  Palfrey,  having  op 
posed  slavery  very  strongly  in  Congress,  and  been 
defeated  for  re-election,  was  nominated  for  governor  on 
the  Free-Soil  ticket,  Emerson  spoke  in  numerous  places 
in  his  behalf.  In  his  address  in  Cambridge  he  expressed 
regret  that  the  scholar  should  be  called  away  from  his 
tasks  to  take  part  in  affairs ;  but,  instead  of  principles 
ruling  in  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  he  found  a  power  in 
favor  of  slavery,  which  sadly  lowered  the*  spirit  in  which 
the  country  was  founded.  He  portrayed  the  evils  of 
slavery,  how  it  dragged  every  thing  down  into  its  cor 
ruption  and  debasement.  Webster  had  just  before,  in 
a  spirit  of  compromise,  consented  to  what  was  regarded 
by  the  anti-slavery  party  as  a  base  betrayal  of  trust. 
Emerson  described  slavery  as  having  captured  the  best 
forces  of  the  country.  He  pictured  the  car  of  slavery 
with  all  its  attendant  abominations,  and  Webster  as  a 
leading  horse  straining  to  drag  on  this  car.  Without 
naming  Webster,  he  pointed  to  him  as  a  last  instance 
of  how  this  evil  corrupted  all  it  touched. 

In  January,  1855,  he  gave  one  of  a  course  of  anti- 
slavery  lectures  in  Tremont  Temple,  Boston.  It  was  a 
strong  and  forcible  address,  full  of  fire,  alive  with  mag- 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY   MOVEMENT.  187 

netic  power,  plain  and  simple  in  style ;  a  most  powerful 
speech,  and  was  frequently  applauded.  He  was  listened 
to  throughout  with  breathless  interest.  He  charged 
the  prevalent  indifference  to  the  wrongs  of  the  slave  to 
skepticism  concerning  great  human  duties  and  concerns. 
"  In  1850  men  in  republican  America  passed  a  statute 
which  made  justice  and  mercy  subject  to  fine  and  im 
prisonment,  and  multitudes  were  found  to  declare  that 
there  existed  no  higher  law  in  the  universe  than  this 
paper  statute  which  uprooted  the  foundations  of  recti 
tude."  He  spoke  of  the  low  condition  of  politics,  and, 
referring  to  the  action  of  Webster  and  others,  said, 
"  Those  who  have  gone  to  Congress  from  us  were  hon 
est,  well-meaning  men.  I  heard  congratulations  from 
good  men,  their  friends,  when  they  went  to  Washing 
ton,  that  they  were  honest  and  thoroughly  reliable,  yes, 
obstinately  honest ;  yet  they  voted  for  this  criminal 
measure  with  the  basest  of  the  populace.  I  hate  and 
saw  not  the  sneer  of  the  bullies  that  duped  them  with 
alleged  state  necessity,  because  they  had  no  hope,  no 
burning  splendor  of  awe  within  their  own  breasts. 
Well,  while  a  refuge  was  left,  they  had  honor  enough 
to  feel  degraded,  and  might  have  left  the  place  instead 
of  having  become  indifferentists." 

The  same  year,  in  an  address  before  the  Anti-slavery 
Society  of  New  York,  he  declared  that  "  an  immoral  law 
is  void,"  arid  stated  his  own  favorite  method  for  abolish 
ing  slavery. 

"  Every  wise  American  will  say,  in  the  collision  of  statutes,  in 
their  doubtful  interpretation,  that  liberty  is  the  great  order  which 
all  over  the  world  we  are  to  promote.  This  is  the  right  meaning 
of  the  statute  which  exterminates  crime,  and  extends  to  every  man 
the  largest  liberty  compatible  with  the  liberty  of  every  other  man. 
No  citizen  will  go  wrong,  who,  upon  every  question,  leans  to  the 
side  of  general  liberty.  Men  inspire  each  other.  It  is  so  delicious 
to  act  with  great  masses  to  great  aims ;  for  instance,  one  would 
say,  the  summary  or  gradual  abolition  of  slavery.  Why,  in  the 
name  of  common  sense  and  the  peace  of  mankind,  is  not  this  made 
the  subjecl^ of  instant  negotiation  and  settlement?  What  are  the 
great  brains  for,  the  great  administrative  faculties,  that  abound 
here,  if  they  are  not  jointly,  seriously,  and  immediately  to  propose 
some  scheme  which  shall  peaceably  settle  this  question,  in  accord- 


138  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

ance  at  once  with  the  interests  of  the  South,  and  with  the  settled 
conscience  of  the  North  ?  It  is  not  really  a  great  task,  a  great 
fight,  for  this  country  to  accomplish,  to  buy  that  property  of  the 
planter,  as  the  British  nation  bought  the  West-Indian  slaves.  I 
say  buy !  never  conceding  the  right  of  the  planter  to  own,  but  ac 
knowledging  the  calamity  of  his  position,  and  willing  to  bear  a 
countryman's  share  in  relieving  him,  and  because  it  is  the  only 
practical  course,  and  is  innocent.  Well,  here  is  the  right  public 
or  social  function,  which  one  man  can  not  do,  and  which  all  men 
must  do.  We  shall  one  day  bring  the  states  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
and  the  citizens  man  to  man,  to  exterminate  slavery.  It  was  said 
a  little  while  ago  that  it  would  cost  a  thousand  or  twelve  hundred 
millions,  now  it  is  said  it  would  cost  two  thousand  millions; 'such 
is  the  enhancement  of  property.  Well,  was  there  ever  any  contri 
bution  that  was  so  enthusiastically  paid  as  this  will  be?  The 
United  States  will  be  brought  to  give  every  inch  of  their  public 
lands  for  a  purpose  like  this.  Every  state  will  contribute  its  sur 
plus  revenue.  Every  man  will  bear  his  part.  We  will  have  a 
chimney-tax.  We  will  give  up  our  coaches  and  wine  and  watches. 
The  church  will  melt  her  plate.  The  father  of  his  country  shall 
wait,  well  pleased,  a  little  longer  for  his  monument.  Franklin  will 
wait  for  his  ;  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  for  theirs  ;  and  the  patient  Colum 
bus,  who  waited  all  his  mortality  for  justice,  shall  wait  a  part  of 
immortality  also.  We  will  call  upon  the  rich  beneficiaries  who 
found  asylums,  hospitals,  Lowell  Institutions,  and  Astor  libraries ; 
upon  wealthy  bachelors  and  wealthy  maidens,  to  make  the  state 
their  heirs,  as  they  were  wont  to  do  in  Rome.  The  rich  shall  give 
of  their  riches  ;  the  merchants  of  their  commerce ;  the  mechanics 
of  their  strength ;  the  needle-women  will  give,  and  children  can 
have  a  Cent  Society.  If,  really,  the  thing  could  come  to  a  nego 
tiation,  and  a  price  were  named,  I  do  not  think  that  any  price, 
founded  upon  an  estimate  that  figures  could  fairly  represent,  would 
be  unmanageable.  Every  man  in  this  land  would  give  a  week's 
work  to  dig  away  this  accursed  mountain  of  slavery,  and  force  it 
for  ever  out  of  the  world." 

When  S umner  was  caned  by  Brooks,  May  22,  1856, 
a  meeting  of  sympathy  was  held  in  Concord  on  the  2Gth, 
and  Emerson  spoke  with  great  appreciation  of  the  ser 
vices  of  that  noble  senator. 

"  The  events  of  the  last  few  years  and  months  and  days  have 
taught  us  the  lessons  of  centuries.  I  do  not  see  how  a  barbarous 
community  and  a  civilized  community  can  constitute  one  state.  I 
think  we  must  get  rid  of  slavery,  or  we  must  get  rid  of  freedom. 
Life  has  no  parity  of  value  in  the  free  state  and  in  the  slave  state. 
In  one,  it  is  adorned  with  education,  \vith  skilled  labor,  with  arts, 
with  long  prospective  interests,  with  social  family  ties,  with  honor 
and  justice.  In  the  other,  life  is  a  fever,  man  is  an  animal,  given 


THE   ANTI-SLAVERY   MOVEMENT.  139 

to  pleasure,  frivolous,  irritable,  spending  his  days  in  hunting,  and 
practicing  with  deadly  weapons  to  defend  himself  against  his  slaves 
and  against  his  companions  brought  up  in  the  same  idle  and  dan 
gerous  way.  .  .  . 

"  The  whole  state  of  South  Carolina  does  not  now  offer  any  one, 
or  any  number  of  persons,  who  are  to  be  weighed  for  a  moment 
in  the  scale  with  such  a  person  as  the  meanest  of  them  all  has  now 
struck  down.  .  .  .  The  outrage  is  the  more  shocking  from  the  singu 
larly  pure  character  of  its  victim.  Mr.  Simmer's  position  is  excep 
tional  in  its  honor.  He  has  not  taken  his  degrees  in  the  caucus 
and  in  hack  politics.  .  .  .  His  friends,  I  remember,  were  told  that 
they  would  find  Sumner  a  man  of  the  world  like  the  rest ;  'tis  quite 
impossible  to  be  at  Washington  and  not  bend ;  he  will  bend  as  the 
rest  have  done.  Well,  he  did  not  bend.  He  took  his  position  and 
kept  it.  He  meekly  bore  the  cold  shoulder  from  some  of  his  New- 
England  colleagues,  the  hatred  of  his  enemies,  the  pity  of  the 
indifferent,  cheered  by  the  love  and  respect  of  good  men  with  whom 
he  acted,  and  has  stood  for  the  North,  a  little  in  advance  of  all  the 
North,  and  therefore  without  adequate  support.  He  has  never  fal 
tered  in  his  maintenance  of  justice  and  freedom.  He  has  gone 
beyond  the  large  expectation  of  his  friends  in  his  increasing  ability 
and  his  manlier  tone. 

"  I  have  heard  that  some  of  his  political  friends  tax  him  with 
indolence  or  negligence  in  refusing  to  make  electioneering  speeches, 
or  otherwise  to  bear  his  part  in  the  labor  which  party  organization 
requires.  I  say  it  to  his  honor.  But  more  to  his  honor  are  the 
faults  which  his  enemies  lay  to  his  charge.  I  think  if  Mr.  Sumner 
had  any  vices  we  should  be  likely  to  hear  of  them.  They  have 
fastened  their  eyes,  like  microscopes,  now  for  five  years,  on  every 
act,  word,  manner,  and  movement,  to  find  a  flaw ;  and  M'ith  what 
result?  His  opponents  accuse  him  neither  of  drunkenness,  nor 
debauchery,  nor  job,  nor  peculation,  nor  rapacity,  nor  personal  aims 
of  any  kind.  No  ;  but  of  what  ?  Why,  beyond  this  charge,  which 
it  is  impossible  was  ever  sincerely  made,  that  he  broke  over  the 
proprieties  of  debate,  I  find  him  accused  of  publishing  his  opinion 
of  the  Nebracka  conspiracy  in  a  letter  to  the  people  of  the  United 
States,  with  discourtesy.  Then,  that  he  is  an  abolitionist ;  as  if 
every  sane  man  were  not  an  abolitionist,  or  a  believer  that  all  men 
should  be  free.  And  the  third  crime  he  stands  charged  with  is, 
that  his  speeches  were  written  before  they  were  spoken ;  which 
must  of  course  be  true  in  Simmer's  case,  as  it  was  true  of  Webster, 
of  Adams,  of  Calhoun,  of  Burke,  of  Chatham,  of  Demosthenes,  of 
every  first-rate  speaker  that  ever  lived.  It  is  the  high  compliment 
he  pays  to  the  intelligence  of  the  Senate  and  of  the  country.  .  .  . 

"  When  I  think  of  these  most  small  faults  as  the  worst  which 
party  hatred  could  allege,  T  think  I  may  borrow  the  language  which 
Bishop  Ihmiet  applied  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  and  say  that  Charles 
Sunnier 'has  the  \vhitest  soul  I  ever  knew.'  .  .  .  I  wish  that  he 
may  know  the  shudder  of  terror  that  ran  through  all  this  commu 
nity  on  the  first  tidings  of  the  brutal  attack.  "Let  him  hear  that 


140  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

every  man  of  worth  in  New  England  loves  his  virtues ;  that  every 
mother  thinks  of  him  as  the  protector  of  families  ;  that  every  friend 
of  freedom  thinks  him  the  friend  of  freedom.  And  if  our  arms  at 
this  distance  can  not  defend  him  from  assassins,  we  confide  the 
defense  of  a  life  so  precious  to  all  honorable  men  and  true  patriots, 
and  to  the  Almighty  Maker  of  men." 

Emerson  admired  the  sturdy  qualities  of  John  Brown 
and  his  indomitable  faith.  Brown  was  several  times  in 
Concord,  and  found  a  hearty  welcome  at  Emerson's 
house.  When  the  raid  was  made  at  Harper's  Ferry, 
Emerson  still  found  himself  in  sympathy  with  the  old 
hero,  though  reluctant  to  regard  such  means  as  the  best 
to  secure  freedom.  He  heard  Thoreau's  address  on 
Brown  with  great  delight,  and  said  that  he  had  found 
the  truth  'of  the  matter.  There  soon  came  an  opportu 
nity  for  him  to  speak;  and  in  a  lecture  delivered  in 
Tremont  Temple,  for  the  Parker  Fraternity,  Nov.  8, 
1859,  he  gave  a  decided  expression  to  his  sympathies. 
The  subject  was  Courage,  and  portions  -of  the  lecture 
have  since  been  published  in  Society  and  Solitude  under 
the  same  title.  Speaking  of  the  courage  which  has 
characterized  the  world's  heroes,  he  said,  that,  "  as  soon 
as  they  are  born  they  take  a  bee-line  to  the  rack  of  the 
inquisition  or  the  ax  of  the  tyrant."  He  then  made 
the  subject  of  the  hour,  the  man  all  men  were  discuss 
ing,  the  illustration  of  this  truth. 

"  Look  nearer,  at  the  ungathered  records  of  those  who  have  gone 
to  languish  in  prison  or  to  die  in  rescuing  others,  or  in  rescuing 
themselves  from  chains  of  the  slave ;  or  look  at  that  new  saint, 
than  whom  none  purer  or  more  brave  was  ever  led  by  love  of  man 
into  conflict  and  death,  —  a  new  saint,  waiting  yet  his  martyrdom, 
and  who,  if  he  shall  suffer,  will  majte  the  gallows  glorious,  like  the 
cross." 

This  was  all  he  said  on  that  subject,  but  it  was 
enough,  as  they  are  immortal  words ;  and  they  were 
received  by  prolonged  and  enthusiastic  applause.  He 
was  reported  as  saying  that  Brown  would  make  the 
gallows  as  glorious  as  the  cross,  and  his  few  emphatic 
words  were  the  cause  of  much  excitement.  The  Courier 
spoke  of  his  "blasphemous  comparison,"  and  said  that 


THE   ANTI-SLAVERY   MOVEMENT.  141 

those  who  consented  to  this  wickedness  denied  the  Lord 
who  bought  them.  A  meeting  of  sympathy  with 
Brown's  family,  and  to  raise  money  for  their  support, 
was  held  in  Tremont  Temple  Nov.  18.  John  A.  Andrew 
presided ;  while  Emerson,  Phillips,  and  Dr.  Manning 
made  addresses.  Emerson  gave  an  account  of  Brown's 
life,  and  showed  the  wickedness  of  the  laws  for  the 
protection  of  the  slaveholders.  Concerning  Brown,  he 
said,  — 

"  This  commanding  event,  the  sequel  of  which  has  brought  us 
together,  eclipses  all  others  which  have  occurred  for  a  long  time  in 
our  history ;  and  I  am  very  glad  to  see  this  sudden  interest  in  the 
hero  of  Harper's  Ferry  has  provoked  an  extreme  curiosity  in  all 
parts  of  the  Republic  in  regard  to  the  details  of  his  history.  He 
is  so  transparent  that  all  men  see  him  through.  He  is  a  man  to 
make  friends  wherever  on  earth  courage  and  integrity  are  esteemed ; 
the  rarest  of  heroes,  a  pure  idealist,  with  no  by-ends  of  his  own. 
Every  one  who  has  heard  him  speak  has  been  impressed  alike  by 
his  simple,  artless  goodness,  joined  with  his  sublime  courage.  He 
joins  that  perfect  Puritan  faith  which  brought  his  fifth  ancestor  to 
Plymouth  Hock,  with  his  grandfather's  ardor  in  the  Revolution. 
He  believes  in  two  articles,  —  two  instruments,  shall  I  say  ?  —  the 
Golden  Rule  and  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  what  a  favorite  he  will  be  with  history,  which 
plays  such  pranks  with  temporary  reputations.  Nothing  can  resist 
the  sympathy  which  all  elevated  minds  must  feel  with  Brown,  and 
through  them  the  whole  civilized  world ;  and  if  he  must  suffer,  he 
must  drag  official  gentlemen  into  an  immortality  most  undesirable, 
and  of  which  they  have  already  some  disagreeable  forebodings. 
Indeed,  it  is  the  reduclio  ad  absurdum  of  slavery  when  the  governor 
of  Virginia  is  forced  to  hang  a  man  whom  he  declares  to  be  a  man 
of  the  most  integrity,  truthfulness,  and  courage  he  has  ever  met. 
Is  that  the  kind  of  man  the  gallows  was  built  for  ?  It  were  bold 
to  affirm  that  there  is  within  that  broad  Commonwealth  at  this 
moment  another  citizen  as  worthy  to  live,  and  as  deserving  of  all 
public  and  private  honor,  as  this  poor  prisoner." 

Emerson  took  part  in  a  meeting  of  sympathy  with 
Brown  held  in  Concord  Dec.  2.  On  the  next  Sunday, 
Dec.  4,  he  lectured  for  Theodore  Parker's  society  in 
Boston  on  Morals.  He  spoke  of  the  desire  of  giving 
freedom  to  those  who  are  in  bondage,  of  establishing  a 
moral,  intellectual,  governmental  equality  such  as  had 
lifted  an  obscure  Connecticut  farmer  into  the  regions  of 
the  great  men,  and  made  all  others  appear  as  inferior 


142  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

men.  It  is  hard,  he  said,  to  find  in  all  history  so  noble 
a  man  as  this,  who  has  dared  to  sacrifice  life  to  principle. 
A  few  such  men  have  done  more  for  the  world  than  all 
the  merely  intellectual  men  mankind  has  ever  seen.  At 
Salem,  Jan.  6,  he  again  spoke  at  a  Brown  meeting,  de 
claring  that  "  every  thing  which  is  said  of  Brown  leaves 
people  a  little  dissatisfied ;  but  as  soon  as  they  read  his 
own  speeches  and  letters,  they  are  heartily  contented ; 
such  is  the  singleness  of  purpose  which  justifies  him  to 
the  head  and  heart  of  all."  He  calls  Brown's  "a  ro 
mantic  character,  absolutely  without  any  vulgar  trait, 
living  to  ideal  ends,  without  any  mixture  of  self-indul 
gence  or  compromise."  In  closing  his  address,  he  said, 
"  The  sentiment  of  mercy  is  the  natural  recoil  which 
the  laws  of  the  universe  provide  to  protect  mankind 
from  destruction  by  savage  passions.  And  our  blind 
statesmen  go  up  and  down  with  committees  of  vigilance 
and  safety,  hunting  for  the  origin  of  this  new  heresy. 
They  will  need  a  very  vigilant  committee,  indeed,  to 
find  its  birthplace,  and  a  very  strong  force  to  root  it  out. 
For  the  arch-abolitionist,  older  than  Brown  and  older 
than  the  Shenandoah  Mountains,  is  Love,  whose  other 
name  is  Justice,  which  was  before  Alfred,  before  Lycur- 
gus,  before  slavery,  and  will  be  after  it." 

Emerson  was  neither  a  zealous  agitator  nor  an  enthu 
siastic  worker  in  this  great  controversy ;  for  he  was 
unfitted  for  it,  both  by  nature  and  by  reason  of  his  views 
of  human  progress.  His  part  in  it  shows  that  he  did 
not  hold  aloof  when  there  was  any  work  he  .could  do, 
and  that  his  heart  was  in  it  from  first  to  last.  In  his 
Ode,  inscribed  to  W.  H.  Channing,  he  replies  to  a 
demand  that  he  should  do  more  in  this  cause,  and  defends 
his  right  to  refuse  to  leave  his  study  for  the  arena  of 
reform.  He  complains  that  — 


Virtue  palters,  right  is  hence, 
Freedom  praised,  but  hid ;  " 


and  though  — 


"  loath  to  grieve 
The  evil  time's  sole  patriot,1 


THE   ANTI-SLAVERY   MOVEMENT.  143 

he  can  not  consent  to  leave  his  tasks  for  the  work  in 
which  his  zealous  friend  would  engage  him.  He  says 
that  even  Boston  would  serve  the  things  of  daily  life, 
and  forget  all  but  the  material  ends  of  existence ;  and 
declares  that —  ___>, 

"  Things  are  of  the  snake." 

So  long  as  the  spirit  of  reform  was  low,  there  was  no 
hope  ;  and  he  must  rest  his  faith  in  the  divine  fires  within 
the  souls  of  men,  which  can  not  be  quenched.  Seeing 
the  evils  and  corruptions  of  the  time,  he  lost  faith  in  the 
state  and  in  all  outward  methods  of  growth  and  moral 
power.  His  own  method,  his  own  faith,  was  this :  — 

"  Let  man  serve  law  for  man, 

Live  for  friendship,  live  for  love, 
For  truth's  and  harmony's  behoof ; 
The  state  may  follow  how  it  can, 
As  Olympus  follows  Jove." 

As  the  agitation  proceeded,  and  brave  men  took-  part 
in  it,  and  it  rose  to  a  spirit  of  moral  grandeur,  he  gave 
a  heartier  assent  to  the  outward  methods  adopted.  His 
faith  in  Brown,  his  immediate  insight  into  the  rare 
qualities  of  that  true  hero,  gave  him  a  greater  zeal  and 
a  larger  confidence  in  the  spirit  and  purposes  of  the 
North.  Few  literary  men,  with  natures  so  meditative 
and  withdrawn  from  all  material  pursuits,  have  given  so 
much  thought  and  effort  to  such  a  cause.  A  student,  a 
poet,  a  seer,  the  spiritual  interpreter  of  our  times,  with 
no  capacity  for  joining  in  the  conflicts  of  men,  he  yet 
looked  with  eager  eyes  upon  every  phase  cf  this  great 
movement,  watched  it  with  growing  hope,  had  faith  in 
the  tiiumph  of  freedom  and  love,  gave  such  aid  as  he 
could  and  all  his  sympathies,  to  those  seeking  the  eman- 
cipati  m  of  the  poor  and  oppressed. 


144  RALPH    WALDO   EMEKSOX. 


XL 

IN  WAR-TIME. 

hour  of  peril  to  great  truths  is  the  hour  that 
_  tries  men's  souls.  The  peril  to  liberty  Emerson 
plainly  saw  as  slavery  gained  in  power,  and  as  compro 
mise  after  compromise  was  made  to  it.  He  was  no 
leader  in  the  actual  strife,  but  his  spoken  and  printed 
word  became  plainer  and  more  pertinent  to  the  hour  as 
the  years  went  on  and  the  peril  deepened.1  He  took  part 
in  January,  1861,  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  Massa 
chusetts  Anti-slavery  Society,  in  Boston.  The  speakers 
were  often  disturbed  by  a  mob,  and  it  was  with  great 
difficulty  they  could  be  heard.  Emerson  was  frequently 
interrupted  by  hisses  and  other  demonstrations  of  dis 
approval.  He  said  that  slavery  is  based  on  a  crime  of 
that  fatal  character  that  it  decomposes  men.  "The 
barbarism  which  has  lately  appeared  wherever  that 
question  has  been  touched,  and  in  the  action  of  the 
states  where  it  prevails,  seems  to  stupefy  the  moral 
sense.  Thejnoral  injury  of  slavery  is  infinitely  greater 
than  its  pecuntary^qgh^eatical  injury^  I  really  do  not 
think  the  pecuniary  mischief  of  slavery,  which  is  always 
shown  by  statistics,  worthy  to  be  named  in  comparison 
with  this  power  to  subvert  the  reason  of  men;  so  that 
those  who  speak  of  it,"  who" UeT^nTTTETw'ho  act  in  its 
behalf,  seem  to  have  lost  the  moral  sense."  In  speak 
ing  of  the  threatened  secession,  he  used  these  emphatic 
words,  appropriate  for  the  hour  arid  occasion :  — 

"  In  the  great  action  now  pending,  all  the  forbearance,  all  the 
discretion  possible,  and  yet  all  the  firmness  will  be  used  by  the  rep- 

1  In  Harper's  Monthly  for  May,  1881,  M  D.  Conway  describes  a  visit 
to  rnrlylo,  ami  the  reading  of  a  letter  "  the  Chelsea  sa#e  "  had  just 
received  from  Emerson,  who  took  him  to  task  for  his  criticisms  of  the 
American  people. 


IN    WAR-TIME.  145 

resentatives  of  the  North,  and  by  the  people  at  home.  No  man  of 
patriotism,  no  man  of  natural  sentiment,  can  undervalue  the  sacred 
Union  which  we  possess  ;  but  if  it  is  sundered,  it  will  be  because  it 
had  already  ceased  to  have  a  vital  tension.  The  action  of  to-day 
is  only  the  ultimatum  of  what  had  already  occurred.  The  bonds 
had  ceased  to  exist,  because  of  this  vital  defect  of  slavery  at  the 
South,  actually  separating  them  in  sympathy,  in  thought,  in  char 
acter,  from  the  people  of  the  North ;  and  then,  if  the  separation 
had^gone  thus  far,  what  is  the  use  of  a  pretended  tie  ?  As  to  con 
cessions,  we  have  none  to  make.  The  monstrous  concession  made 
at  the  formation  of  the  Constitution  is  all  that  ever  can  be  asked  ; 
it  has  blocked  the  civilization  and  humanity  of  the  times  to  this 
day." 

The  war  made  a  great  impression  on  him,  and  gave 
him  a  stronger  faith  in  mankind.     lie  found  the  people 
truer  than  he  had  expected,  and  was  alike  astonished  and 
gladdened  by  the  uprising  at  the  North.     It  gave  him 
a  new  idea  of  the  relations  of  men  to  each  other,  of  the 
value  of   the  state,  and  of  the  solidarity  of   the  race. 
During  the  earlier  part  of  the  war  he  spoke  often  on 
Sundays   for    Theodore    Parker's    society.      After   the 
battle  of  Bull  Run,  in  a  lecture  delivered  there,  he  said 
the  judgment  of  God  had  come  upon  the  people  for  their 
sins ;   but  he  said  the  struggle  for  freedom  was  develop 
ing  a  heroism  and  a  moral  grandeur  noble  to  see.     He 
had  despaired  of  the  nation  before ;  but  now  he  saw  a 
purpose  and  devotion  real  and  sublime,  the  promise  of 
a  better  time  to  come.     He  said  the  people  must  be 
reverent   and  considerate  and    humble,  under  the  cir 
cumstances   of   this   judgment,   and   spoke   with   great 
confidence   of  Mr.  Lincoln   and  his  ability.     In   other 
lectures,  at  this  time,  he  expressed  his  confidence  in  the 
idea  of  the  Union  and  his  new  hope  for  the  principles 
of  the  Republic.     He  was  touched  by  tin;  eagerness  and 
discretiarT  of  the  young  men,  the  pure  patriotism  and 
consecration   which  was   shown  in  so  many  instances, 
and  the  moral  devotion  of  the  people.     As  neveijjefore, 
he  came  to  have  faith  jnjiis  country,  to  believe  in  her 
ideas,  and  to  trusTTierTuture.     Hejsajty__a_jiew  promise 
for  morality  and  ideas  in  the  heroic  spirit  of  the  North, 
r.nd  foun^iirnseif   injbhe jfallcst   sympathy   with   the 
purposes  of  ilie'liour.    " 


146  KALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

In  February,  1862,  he  was  invited  to  Washington  to 
give  an  anti-slavery  lecture.  He  spoke  in  the  Smithso 
nian-Institution  building,  on  American  Civilization,  to 
a  very  large  audience.  Lincoln  and  his  cabinet,  and 
most  of  the  other  official  persons  in  the  capital,  attended. 
Lincoln  was  much  impressed  by  the  lecture  ;  and  the 
next  day  Seward  introduced  him  to  Emerson.  They 
had  a  long  conference  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  The 
impression  this  lecture  made  was  thus  described  by  a 
local  newspaper:  "The  audience  received  it,  as  they  have 
the  other  anti-slavery  lectures  of  the  course,  with  un 
bounded  enthusiasm.  It  was  in  many  respects  a  won- 
erful  lecture ;  and  those  who  have  often  heard  Mr. 
Emerson  said  it  was  one  of  his  very  best  efforts,  and 
that  he  seemed  inspired  through  nearly  the  whole  of  it, 
especially  the  part  referring  to  slavery  and  the  war." 

In  this  lecture  1  Emerson  gave  a  sketch  of  the  influ 
ences  that  go  to  the  production  of  civilization,  and  said 
it  "implies  a  facility  of  association,  power  to  compare, 
the  ceasing  from  fixed  ideas."  It  is  always  the  result 
of  growth  caused  by  some  "  novelty  that  astounds  the 
mind,  and  provokes  it  to  dare  to  change."  Of  the  aids 
to  development  have  been  proximity  to  the  sea-shore, 
climate,  position  of  woman,  and  diffusion  of  knowledge. 
He  pointed  out  the  influence  of  material  causes,  even 
though  so  often  dwelling  upon  the  power  of  ideas.  He 
says  "  the  effect  of  a  framed  or  stone  house  is  immense 
on  the  tranquillity,  power,  and  refinement  of  the  build 
er."  The  road  is  a  benefactor,  missionary,  wealth- 
bringer,  maker  of  markets,  and  a  vent  for  industry. 
We  must  all  the  time  depend  on  the  elements,  use  their 
power,  and  get  the  aid  of  their  strength.  When  we 
learn  to  use  the  elements,  to  secure  their  aid  in  doing 
our  work,  propelling  our  ships,  and  in  sending  our  mes 
sages,  then  civilization  has  been  made  fully  possible. 
Complexity  of  organization,  making  a  close  dependence 
of  all  parts  of  society  011  all  others,  produces  civilization. 
There  can,  however,  be  no  high  civility  without  a  deep 
morality ;  and  on  that  civilization  depends.  As  our 

1  Printed  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  April,  1862. 


IN   WAR-TIME.  147 

physical  success  depends  on  our  implicit  acceptance  of 
the  laws  of  nature,  so  our  moral  success  depends  on  our 
acceptance  of  principles.  We  must  hitch  our  wagon  to 
a  star,  and  work  for  those  interests  which  the  divinities 
honor  and  promote,  — justice,  love,  freedom,  knowledge, 
utility. 

The  true  test  of  civilization  is  the  kind  of  man  the 
country  turns  out.  There  is  an  immense  material  ad 
vantage  and  prosperity  possessed  by  this  country ;  but 
the  industry,  skill,  sobriety,  and  morality  of  the  people 
are  a  better  promise.  The  appearance  of  great  men, 
the  movement  of  great  ideas,  overtops  in  importance  all 
mechanical  advancement.  The  country  where  knowl 
edge  can  not  be  diffused,  where  liberty  is  attacked  and 
woman  not  respected,  is  not  civil,  but  barbarous ;  and 
no  advantages  of  soil,  climate,  or  coast  can  resist  these 
suicidal  mischiefs. 

He  then  turned  to  the  Southern  States,  showed  that 
they  had  trampled  on  morality,  in  denying  a  man's 
right  to  labor.  The  power  and  advantages  of  labor 
were  shown,  and  its  importance  as  an  element  of  civili 
zation.  Two  states  of  civilization,  the  one  respecting 
labor,  and  the  other  based  on  slavery,  we  have  tried  to 
hold  together.  They  do  not  agree,  and  all  are  anxious 
over  the  aspects  of  the  war.  America  means  oppor 
tunity,  the  last  effort  of  Divine  Providence  in  behalf 
of  the  human  race ;  and  a  slavish  following  of  prece 
dents  should  not  guide  its  destinies.  The  evil  con 
tended  against  has  taken  alarming  proportions,  and  we 
must  strike  directly  at  the  cause.  The  dangers  have 
been  clearly  shown,  there  have  been  warnings  enough. 
Slavery  concealed  nothing,  and  we  knew  where  it 
would  lead. 

"  In  this  national  crisis,  it  is  not  argument  that  we  want,  but 
that  rare  courage  which  dares  commit  itself  to  a  principle,  believ 
ing  that  nature  is  its  ally,  and  will  create  the  instruments  it  re 
quires,  and  more  than  make  good  any  petty  and  injurious  profit 
which  it  may-  disturb.  There  never  was  such  a  combination  as 
this  of  ours,  and  the  rules  to  meet  it  are  not  set  down  in  any  his 
tory.  We  want  men  of  original  perception  and  original  action, 
A' ho  can  open  their  eyes  wider  than  to  a  nationality,  namely,  to  a 


148  EALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

consideration  of  benefit  to  the  human  race,  can  act  in  the  interest 
of  civilization.  Government  must  not  be  a  parish-clerk,  a  justice 
of  the  peace.  It  has, 'of  necessity,  in  any  crisis  of  the  state,  the 
absolute  powers  of  a  dictator.  The  existing  administration  is 
entitled  to  the  utmost  candor.  It  is  to  be  thanked  for  its  angelic 
virtue,  compared  with  any  executive  experiences  with  which  we 
have  been  familiar.  But  the  times  will  not  allow  us  to  indulge  in 
compliment.  I  wish  I  saw  in  the  people  that  inspiration,  which,  if 
government  would  not  obey  the  same,  it  would  leave  the  govern 
ment  behind,  and  create  on  the  moment  the  means  and  executors 
it  wanted.  Better  the  war  should  more  dangerously  threaten  us, 
should  threaten  fracture  in  what  is  still  whole,  and  punish  us 
with  burned  capitals  and  slaughtered  regiments,  and  so  exasperate 
the  people  to  energy,  exasperate  our  nationality.  There  are  scrip 
tures  written  invisibly  on  men's  hearts,  whose  letters  do  not  come 
out  until  they  are  enraged.  They  can  be  read  by  war-fires  and  by 
eyes  in  the  last  peril." 

In  other  days  of  our  history  slavery  could  have  been 
removed,  if  the  free  states  had  done  their  duty.  They 
yielded ;  but  a  new  opportunity  is  now  given.  "  It 
looks  as  if  we  held  the  fate  of  the  fairest  possession  of 
mankind  in  our  hands,  to  be  saved  by  our  firmness,  or 
to  be  lost  by  hesitation." 


"  The  one  power  that  has  legs  long  enough  and  strong  enough 
to  cross  the  Potomac  offers  itself  at  this  hour,  —  the  one  strong 
enough  to  bring  all  the  civility  up  to  the  height  of  that  which  is 
best  prays  now  at  the  door  of  Congress  for  leave  to  move.  Eman 
cipation  is  the  demand  of  civilization.  That  is  a  principle  ;  every 
thing  else  is  intrigue.  This  is  a  progressive  policy,  puts  the  whole 
people  in  healthy,  productive,  amiable  position,  puts  every  man  in 
the  South  in  just  and  natural  relations  with  every  man  in  the 
North,  laborer  with  laborer." 

The  Southerners  love  war,  have  just  reached  the 
civilization  that  craves  it.  They  are  fit  for  conflict,  but 
we  are  laborers.  They  will  dread  forfeiture  of  the  con 
ditions  that  make  war  to  them  a  profit,  but  we  must 
abolish  slavery  or  always  hold  them  in  subjection.  The 
one  weapon  of  real  power  for  us  is  abolition.  We  have 
had  compromises  enough,  and  must  now  secure  the 
doing  of  what  we  believe  to  be  right.  This  will  secure 
for  the  South  a  new  atomic  social  composition  which 
will  lead  to  peace  and  prosperity. 


IN    WAR-TIME.  149 

"  Now,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  simple  and  generous,  why 
should  not  this  great  right  be  clone  ?  Why  should  not  America  be 
capable  of  a  second  stroke  for  the  well-being1  of  the  human  race,  as 
eighty  or  ninety  years  ago  she  was  for  the  first  ?  an  affirmative 
step  in  the  interests  of  human  civility,  urged  on  her,  too,  not  by 
any  romance  of  sentiment,  but  by  her  own  extreme  perils  ?  It  is 
very  certain  that  the  statesman  who  shall  break  through  the  cob 
webs  of  doubt,  fear,  and  petty  cavil  that  lie  in  the  way,  will  be 
greeted  by  the  unanimous  thanks  of  mankind.  Men  reconcile 
themselves  very  fast  to  a  bold  and  good  measure,  when  once  it  is 
taken,  though  they  condemned  it  in  advance.  And  this  action  which 
costs  so  little  rids  the  world,  at  one  stroke,  of  this  degrading 
nuisance,  the  cause  of  war  and  ruin  of  nations.  This  measure  at 
once  puts  all  parties  right.  This  is  borrowing,  as  I  said,  the 
omnipotence  of  a  principle.  What  is  so  foolish  as  the  terror  lest 
the  blacks  should  be  made  furious  by  freedom  and  wages  ?  It  is 
denying  these  that  is  the  outrage,  and  makes  the  danger  from  the 
blacks.  But  justice  satisfies  everybody,  —  white  man,  red  man, 
yellow  man,  and  black  man.  All  like  wages,  and  the  appetite 
grows  by  feeding." 

This  measure  needs  to  be  adopted  at  once,  for  this 
weapon  is  slipping  from  our  hands.  The  victory  will 
at  last  come,  however,  when  it  deserves ;  and  it  can 
only  come  through  Nature's  appointed  elements. 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  a  fatal  objection  to  this  policy,  that  it  is  simple 
and  beneficent  thoroughly,  which  is  the  attribute  of  a  moral  action. 
An  unprecedented  material  prosperity  has  not  tended  to  make  us 
stoics  or  Christians.  But  the  laws  by  which  the  universe  is  organ 
ized  re-appear  at  every  point,  and  will  rule  it.  The  end  of  all 
political  struggle  is  to  establish  morality  as  the  basis  of  all  legisla 
tion.  It  is  not  free  institutions,  'tis  not  a  republic,  'tis  not  a 
democracy,  that  is  the  end,  — no,  but  only  the  means.  Morality  is 
the  object  of  government.  We  want  a  state  of  things  in  which 
crime  shall  not  pay.  This  is  the  consolation  on  which  we  rest  in 
the  darkness  of  the  future  and  the  aulictions  of  to-day,  that  the 
government  of  the  world  is  moral,  and  does  for  ever  destroy  what 
is  not." 

As  before,  Emerson  favored  paying  for  the  slaves. 
When  trTe~iec~trrre  was  published,  he  added  a  paragraph 
approving  of  the  president's  message  looking  to  a 
gradual  abolition  of  slavery.  "  In  the  recent  series  of 
national  successes,  he  says,  this  message  is  the  best. 
It  marks  the  happiest  day  in  the  political  year."  When 
the  proclamation  of  Sept.  22 -came  out,  providing  for 


150  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

emancipation  on  the  first  of  January,  a  meeting  was 
held  in  Boston,  at  which  Emerson  spoke.  He  began 
his  address  l  by  saying,  — 

"  In  so  many  arid  forms  which  states  incrust  themselves  with, 
once  in  a  century,  if  so  often,  a  poetic  act  and  record  occur.  These 
are  the  jets  of  thought  into  affairs,  when,  roused  by  danger  or 
inspired  by  genius,  the  political  leaders  of  the  day  break  the  else 
insurmountable  routine  of  class  and  local  legislation,  and  take  a 
step  forward  in  the  direction  of  catholic  and  universal  interests. 
Every  step  in  the  history  of  political  liberty  is  a  sally  of  the  human 
mind  into  the  untried  future,  and  has  the  interest  of  genius,  and 
is  fruitful  in  heroic  anecdotes.  Liberty  is  a  slow  fruit.  It  comes, 
like  religion,  for  short  periods  and  in  rare  conditions,  as  if  awaiting 
a  culture  of  the  race  which  shall  make  it  organic  and  permanent." 

He  then  cites  some  acts  and  movements  of  this  kind, 
giving  prominence  to  Lincoln's  proclamation.  Such 
acts  are  of  great  scope,  working  on  a  long  future. 
They  make  little  noise,  and  yet  they  work  untold 
benefits.  Of  Lincoln's  wisdom  he  then  says,  — 

"  The  extreme  moderation  with  which  the  president  advanced 
to  his  design  ;  his  long-avowed,  expectant  policy,  as  if  he  chose 
to  be  strictly  the  executive  of  the  best  public  sentiment  of  the 
country,  waiting  only  till  it  should  be  unmistakably  pronounced ; 
so  fair  a  mind  that  none  ever  listened  so  patiently  to  such  extreme 
varieties  of  opinion;  so  reticent  that  his  decision  has  taken  all 
parties  by  surprise,  whilst  yet  it  is  the  just  sequel  of  his  prior  acts ; 
the  firm  tone  in  which  he  announces  it,  without  inflation  or  sur 
plusage,  —  all  these  have  bespoken  such  favor  to  the  act,  that,  great 
as  the  popularity  of  the  president  has  been,  we  are  beginning  to 
think  that  wre  have  underestimated  the  capacity  and  virtue  which 
the  Divine  Providence  has  made  an  .instrument  of  benefit  so  vast. 
lie  has  been  permitted  to  do  more  for  America  than  any  other 
American  man.  lie  is  well  entitled  to  the  most  indulgent  con 
struction.  Forget  all  that  we  thought  shortcomings,  every  mis 
take,  every  delay.  In  the  extreme  embarrassments  of  his  part, 
call  these  endurance,  wisdom,  magnanimity,  illuminated  as  they 
now  are  by  his  dazzling  success." 

He  then  calls  attention  to  the  difficulties  Lincoln  has 
had  to  overcome,  and  \  hat  soon  the  hour  will  strike  of 
this  glad  emancipation.  Once  done  it  can  not  be  un 
done.  Slavery  can  not  be  introduced  anew  in  the  nine 
teenth  century,  for  the  moral  sentiment  is  now  against  it. 

i  Atlantic  Monthly,  November,  18G2. 


[N    WAR-TIME.  151 

"  This  act  makes  that  the  lives  of  our  heroes  have  not  been  sac 
rificed  in  vain.  It  makes  a  victory  of  our  defeats.  Our  hurts  are 
healed  ;  the  health  of  the  nation  is  repaired.  With  a  victory  like 
this  we  can  stand  many  disasters.  It  does  not  promise  the  redemp 
tion  of  the  black  race ;  that  lies  not  with  us ;  but  it  relieves  it  of 
our  opposition.  The  president  by  this  act  has  paroled  all  the  slaves 
in  America ;  they  will  no  more  fight  against  us ;  and  it  relieves  our 
race  once  for  all  of  its  crime  and  false  position.  The  first  condi 
tion  of  success  is  secured  in  putting  ourselves  right.  We  have 
recovered  ourselves  from  our  false  position,  and  planted  ourselves 
on  a  law  of  Nature. 

'  If  that  fail, 

The  pillared  firmament  is  rottenness, 
And  earth's  base  built  on  stubble.' 

The  government  has  assured  itself  of  the  best  constituency  in 
the  world ;  every  spark  of  intellect,  every  virtuous  feeling,  every 
religious  heart,  every  man  of  honor,  every  poet,  every  philosopher, 
the  generosity  of  the  cities,  the  health  of  the  country,  the  strong 
arms  of  the  mechanics,  the  endurance  of  farmers,  the  passionate 
conscience  of  women,  the  sympathy  of  distant  nations,  all  rally  to 
its  support." 

All  the  people  need  to  give  their  help  in  maintaining 
this  movement.  When  this  blot  is  removed  we  can 
show  our  faces,  and  be  no  longer  hypocrites  and  pre 
tenders.  Public  distress  seems  to  be  removed  by  it, 
land  becomes  of  more  substantial  value,  and  the  whole 
country  seems  to  be  redeemed  and  renewed.  This 
movement,  however,  was  inevitable  and  imperative. 
The  war  existed  long  before  Sumter,  and  could  only  be 
ended  in  this  manner. 

After  showing  how  we  have  been  misunderstood  by 
other  nations,  and  the  effect  on  the  South,  he  bursts 
forth  with  these  eloquent  words :  — 

"  It  was  well  to  delay  the  steamers  at  the  wharves  until  this 
edict  could  be  put  on  board.  It  will  be  an  insurance  to  the  ship 
as  it  goes  plunging  through  the  sea  with  glad  tidings  to  all  peo 
ple.  Happy  are  the  young  who  find  the  pestilence  cleansed  out  of 
the  earth,  leaving  open  to  them  an  honest  career.  Happy  the  old, 
who  see  Xature  purified  before  they  depart.  Do  not  let  the  dying 
die ;  hold  them  back  to  this  world  until  you  have  charged  their 
ear  and  heart  with  this  message  to  other  spiritual  societies,  an 
nouncing  the  melioration  of  our  planet." 

He  closes  with  a  kind  word  for  that  "  ill-fated,  much- 
injured  race  which  the  proclamation  respects."  It  was 


152  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSOX. 

a  clear,  strong,  earnest  address,  full  of  sympathy  for 
the  blacks,  and  grandly  true  to  the  highest  moral  con 
victions.  There  were  no  conceits  of  language  in  it,  but 
a  plain  directness  and  a  simple  power  that  were  full 
of  charm.  It  is  well  to  recall  these  addresses,  that  we 
may  so  much  the  more  clearly  understand  how  practi 
cal  and  human  is  Emerson's  genius.  On  these  occasions 
he  came  directly  to  the  subject  in  hand,  uttered  not  a 
word  but  of  the  highest  wisdom,  and  proclaimed  in 
majestic  words  that  moral  law  which  is  written  in  the 
nature  of  things. 

When  the  proclamation  was  carried  into  effect  on  the 
1st    of   January,  18(33,  and  emancipation  was  made  a 
reality,  a  meeting  of  rejoicing  was  held  in  Boston.     On 
this  occasion  Emerson  read  his  Boston  Hymn.     Later 
in  the  year  he  published  his  Voluntaries,  in  which  he 
celebrates  the  victories  of  liberty.     Jubilantly  he  sings, 
"  I  see  the  wreath,  I  hear  the  songs 
Lauding  the  Eternal  Rights." 

His  steady  faith  in  liberty  finds  expression  in  these 
words :  — 

"  Stainless  soldier  on  the  walls, 

Knowing  this,  —  and  knows  no  more,  — 
Whoever  fights,  whoever  falls, 

Justice  conquers  evermore, 
Justice  after  as  before  ; 

And  he  who  battles  on  her  side, 
God,  though  he  were  ten  times  slain, 

Crowns  him  victor  glorified  — • 
Victor  over  death  and  pain  — 

For  ever." 

On  the  19th  of  April,  1865,  a  meeting  was  held  in 
Concord  to  give  expression  to  the  grief  felt  on  account 
of  Lincoln's  death.  Emerson  had  watched  the  presi 
dent's  course  during  the  war  with  the  greatest  interest 
iind  satisfaction,  and  felt  his  loss  most  keenly.  On  this 
occasion  he  delivered  the  following  address,  in  which  he 
gave  full  expression  to  'his  thought  about  the  war,  the 
victory  of  the  North,  and  his  great  love  of  Lincoln. 

'•  We  meet  under  the  gloom  of  a  calamity  which  darkens  down 
over  the  minds  of  good  men  iu  all  civil  society,  as  the  fearful  tid- 


IN   WAR-TIME, 

ings  travel  over  sea,  over  land,  from  country  to  country,  like  the 
shadow  of  an  uncalculated  eclipse  over  the  planet.  Old  as  history 
is,  and  manifold  as  are  its  tragedies,  I  doubt  if  any  death  has 
caused  so  much  pain  to  mankind  as  this  has  caused,  or  will  cause, 
on  its  announcement;  and  this,  not  so  much  because  nations  are 
by  modern  arts  brought  so  closely  together,  as  because  of  the  mys 
terious  hopes  and  fears  which,  in  the  present  day,  are  connected 
with  the  name  and  institutions  of  America. 

"  In  this  country,  on  Saturday,  every  one  was  struck  dumb,  and 
saw  at  first  only  deep  below  deep,  as  he  meditated  on  the  ghastly 
blow.  And  perhaps  at  this  hour,  when  the  coifin  which  contains 
the  dust  of  the  president  sets  forward  on  its  long  march  through 
mourning  states  on  its  way  to  his  home  in  Illinois,  we  might  well 
be  silent,  and  suffer  the  awful  voices  of  the  time  to  thunder  to  us. 
Yes,  but  that  first  despair  was  brief ;  the  man  was  not  so  to  be 
mourned,  lie  was  the  most  active  and  hopeful  of  men,  and  his 
work  had  not  perished ;  but  acclamation  of  praise  for  the  task  lie 
had  accomplished  burst  out  into  a  song  of  triumph,  which  even 
tears  for  his  death  can  not  keep  down. 

"The  president  stood  before  us  as  a  man  of  the  people.  He 
was  thoroughly  American,  had  never  crossed  the  sea,  had  never 
been  spoiled  by  English  insularity  or  French  dissipation  ;  a  quite 
native,  aboriginal  man,  as  an  acorn  from  the  oak;  no  aping  of 
foreigners,  no  frivolous  accomplishments.  Kentuckian  born,  work 
ing  on  a  farm,  a  flat-boatman,  a  captain  in  the  Blackhawk  war,  a 
country  lawyer,  a  representative  in  the  rural  legislature  of  Illinois, 
on  such  modest  foundations  the  hard  structure  of  his  fame  was 
laid.  How  slowly,  and  yet  by  happily  prepared  steps,  he  came  to 
his  place.  All  of  us  remember  (it  is  only  a  history  of  five  or  six 
years)  the  surprise  and  the  disappointment  of  the  country  at  his 
first  nomination  by  the  convention  at  Chicago.  Mr.  Seward,  then 
in  the  culmination  of  his  good  fame,  was  the  favorite  of  the  East 
ern  states.  And  when  the  new  and  comparatively  unknown  name 
of  Lincoln  was  announced  (notwithstanding  the  report  of  the  ac 
clamations  of  that  convention),  we  heard  the  result  coldly  and  sadly. 
It  seemed  too  rash,  on  a  purely  local  reputation,  to  build  so  grave 
a  trust  in  such  anxious  times;  and  men  naturally  talked  of  the 
chances  of  politics  as  incalculable.  But  it  turned  out  not  to  be 
chance.  The  profound  good  opinion  which  the  people  of  Illinois 
and  of  the  West  had  conceived  of  him,  and  which  they  had  im- 
pai  ted  to  their  colleagues,  that  they  also  might  justify  themselves 
to  their  constituents  at  home,  was  not  rash,  though  they  did  not 
begin  to  know  the  riches  of  his  worth. 

"  A  plain  man  of  the  people,  an  extraordinary  fortune  attended 
him.  Lord  Bacon  says,  '  Manifest  virtues  procure  reputation  ; 
occult  onejs,  fortune.'  He  offered  no  shining  qualities  at  the  first 
encounter ;  he  did  not  offend  by  superiority.  He  had  a  face  and 
manner  which  disarmed  suspicion,  which  inspired  confidence,  which 
confirmed  good-will.  He  was  a  man  without  vices.  He  had  a 
strong  sense  of  duty,  which  it  was  very  easy  for  him  to  obey.  Then, 


154  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

he  had  what  farmers  call  a  long-  head ;  was  excellent  in  working 
out  the  sum  for  himself ;  in  arguing'  his  case,  and  convincing  you 
fairly  and  firmly.  Then,  it  turned  out  that  he  was  a  great  worker  ; 
had  prodigious  faculty  of  performance ;  worked  easily.  A  good 
worker  is  so  rare  ;  everybody  has  some  disabling  quality.  In  a 
host  of  young  men  that  start  together,  and  promise  so  many  bril 
liant  leaders  for  the  next  age,  each  fails  on  trial ;  one  by  bad  health, 
one  by  conceit,  or  by  love  of  pleasure,  or  lethargy,  or  an  ugly  temper, 
—  each  has  some  disqualifying  fault  that  throws  him  out  of  the 
career.  But  this  man  was  sound  to  the  core,  cheerful,  persistent, 
all  right  for  labor,  and  liked  nothing  so  well. 

"  Then,  he  had  a  vast  good-nature  which  made  him  tolerant  and 
accessible  to  all ;  fair-minded,  leaning  to  the  claim  of  the  petitioner ; 
affable,  and  not  sensible  to  the  affliction  which  the  innumerable 
visits  paid  to  him  when  president  would  have  brought  to  any  one 
else.  And  how  this  good  nature  became  a  noble  humanity,  in 
many  a  tragic  case  which  the  events  of  the  war  brought  to  him, 
every  one  will  remember ;  and  with  what  increasing  tenderness  he 
dealt,  when  a  whole  race  was  thrown  on  his  compassion.  The  poor 
negro  said  of  him,  on  an  impressive  occasion,  *  Massa  Linkum  am 
ebery  where.' 

"  Then,  his  broad  good-humor,  running  easily  into  jocular  talk, 
in  which  we  delighted  and  in  which  he  excelled,  was  a  rich  gift  to 
this  wise  man.  It  enabled  him  to  keep  his  secret,  to  meet  every 
kind  of  man  and  every  rank  in  society,  to  take  off  the  edge  of 
the  severest  decisions,  to  mask  his  own  purpose  and  sound  his 
companion,  and  to  catch  with  true  instinct  the  temper  of  every 
company  he  addressed.  And,  more  than  all,  it  is  to  a  man  of 
severe  labor,  in  anxious  and  exhausting  crises,  the  natural  restora 
tion,  good  as  sleep,  and  in  the  protection  of  the  over-driven  brain 
against  rancor  and  insanity. 

"  He  is  the  author  of  a  multitude  of  good  sayings,  so  disguised 
as  pleasantries  that  it  is  certain  they  had  no  reputation  at  first 
but  as  jests  ;  and  onl\  «*ter,  by  the  very  acceptance  and  adoption 
they  find  in  the  mouths  of  millions,  turn  out  to  be  the  wisdom  of 
the  hour.  I  am  sure  if  this  man  had  ruled  in  a  period  of  less 
facility  of  printing,  he  would  have  become  mythological  in  a  few 
years,  like  ^Esop  or  Pilpay,  or  one  of  the  Seven  Wise  Masters,  by 
his  fables  and  proverbs.  But  the  weight  and  penetration  of  many 
passages  in  his  letters,  messages,  and  speeches,  hidden  now  by  the 
very  closeness  of  their  application  to  the  moment,  are  destined 
hereafter  to  a  wide  fame.  What  pregnant  definitions  1  what  un 
erring  common  senso !  what  foresight !  and,  on  great  occasion, 
what  lofty,  and,  more  than  national,  what  human  tone  !  liis  brief 
speech  at  Gettysburg  will  net  easily  be  surpassed  by  words  on  any 
recorded  occasion.  This,  and  one  other  recorded  American  speech, 
that  of  John  Brown,  to  the  court  that  tried  him,  and  a  part  of 
Kossuth's  speech  at  Birmingham,  can  only  be  compared  with  each 
other,  and  with  no  fourth. 

"  His  occupying  the  chair  of  state  was  a    "mmph  of  the  good 


IN   WAR-TIME.  155 

sense  of  mankind,  and  of  the  public  conscience.  This  middle-class 
country  had  got  a  middle-class  president  at  last.  Yes,  in  man 
ners  and  sympathies,  but  not  in  powers ;  for  his  power  was  superior. 
This  man  grew  according  to  the  need.  His  mind  mastered  the 
problem  of  the  day ;  and  as  the  problem  grew,  so  did  his  compre 
hension  of  it.  Rarely  was  man  so  fitted  to  the  event.  In  the 
midst  of  fears  and  jealousies,  in  the  babel  of  counsels  and  parties, 
this  man  wrought  incessantly  with  all  his  might  and  all  his  hon 
esty,  laboring  to  find  what  the  people  wanted,  and  how  to  obtain 
that.  It  can  not  be  said  there  is  any  exaggeration  of  his  worth. 
If  ever  a -man  was  fairly  tested  he  was.  There  was  no  lack  of 
resistance,*  nor  of  slander,  nor  of  ridicule.  The  times  have  allowed 
no  state  secrets  ;  the  nation  has  been  in  such  ferment,  such  multi 
tudes  had  to  be  trusted,  that  no  secret  could  be  kept.  Every  door 
was  ajar,  and  we  know  all  that  befel. 

"  Then,  what  an  occasion  was  the  whirlwind  of  war !  Here  was 
place  for  no  holiday  magistrate,  no  fair-weather  sailor ;  the  new 
pilot  was  hurried  to  the  helm  in  a  tornado.  In  four  years,  — four 
years  of  battle-days,  —  his  endurance,  his  fertility  of  resources,  his 
magnanimity,  were  sorely  tried,  and  never  found  wanting.  Then, 
by  his  courage,  his  justice,  his  even  temper,  his  fertile  counsel,  his 
humanity,  he  stood  a  heroic  figure  in  the  center  of  a  heroic  epoch. 
He  is  the  true  history  of  the  American  people  in  his  time.  Step 
by  step  he  walked  before  them, — slow  with  their  slowness,  quicken 
ing  his  march  with  theirs ;  the  true  representative  o±  his  continent ; 
an  entirely  public  man ;  father  of  his  country,  —  the  pulse  of  twenty 
millions  throbbing  in  his  heart,  the  thought  of  their  minds  artic'u- 
lated  by  his  tongue. 

"  Adam  Smith  remarks  that  the  ax,  which,  in  Houbraken's  por 
traits  of  British  kings  and  worthies,  is  engraved  under  those  who 
suffered  on  the  block,  adds  a  certain  lofty  charm  to  the  picture. 
4^nd  who  does  not  see,  even  in  this  tragedy  so  recent,  how  fast  the 
terror  and  ruin  of  the  massacre  are  already  burning  around  the 
victim  ?  Far  happier  his  fate  than  to  have  lived  to  be  wished 
away,  to  have  watched  the  decay  of  his  own  faculties,  to  have 
seen  —  perhaps  even  he  —  the  proverbial  ingratitude  of  statesmen, 
to  have  seen  mean  men  preferred.  Had  he  not  lived  long  enough 
to  keep  the  greatest  promise  that  ever  man  made  to  his  fellow-men, 
—  the  practical  abolition  of  slavery?  He  had  seen  Tennessee, 
Missouri,  and  Maryland  emancipate  their  slaves.  He  had  seen 
Savannah,  Charleston,  and  Richmond  surrendered ;  had  seen  the 
main  army  of  the  rebellion  lay  down  its  arms.  He  had  conquered 
the  public  opinion  of  Canada,  England,  and  France.  Only  Wash 
ington  can  compare  with  him  in  fortune. 

"  And  what  if  it  should  turn  out,  in  the  unfolding  of  the  web, 
that  he  had  reached  the  term  ;  that  this  heroic  deliverer  could  not 
longer  serve  us ;  that  th  rebellion  had  touched  its  natural  conclu 
sion,  and  what  remained  to  be  done  required  new  and  uncommit 
ted  hands,  —  a  new  spirit  born  out  of  the  ashes  of  war;  and  that 
Heaven,  wishing  to  show  the  world  a  completed  benefactor,  shall 


156  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

make  him  serve  his  country  even  more  by  his  death  than  by  his 
life?  Nations,  like  kings,  are  not  good  by  facility  and  complai 
sance.  'The  kindness  01  kings  consists  in  justice  and  strength.' 
Easy  good-nature  has  been  the  dangerous  foible  of  the  Republic ; 
and  it  was  a  new  essay  that  its  enemies  should  outrage  it,  and 
drive  us  to  unwonted  firmness  to  secure  the  salvation  of  this  coun 
try  in  the  next  ages. 

"  The  ancients  believed  in  a  serene  and  beautiful  Genius  which 
ruled  in  the  affairs  of  nations,  which,  with  a  slow  but  stern  justice, 
carried  forward  the  fortunes  of  certain  chosen  houses,  weeding  out 
sinful  offenders  or  offending  families,  and  securing  at  last  the  firm 
prosperity  of  the  favorites  of  heaven.  It  was  too  narrow  a  view  of 
the  eternal  Nemesis.  There  is  a  serene  providence  which  rules 
the  fate  of  nations,  which  makes  little  account  of  time,  little  of  one 
generation  or  race,  makes  no  account  of  disasters,  conquers  alike 
by  what  is  called  deieat,  or  what  is  called  victory,  thrusts  aside 
enemy  and  obstruction,  crushes  every  thing  immoral  as  inhuman, 
and  obtains  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  best  race  by  the  sacrifice 
of  eveiy  thing  which  resists  the  moral  laws  of  the  world.  It  makes 
its  own  instruments,  creates  the  man  of  the  time,  trains  him  in 
poverty,  inspires  his  genius,  and  arms  him  for  his  task.  It  has 
given  every  race  its  own  talent,  and  ordains  that  only  that  race 
which  combines  perfectly  with  the  virtues  of  all  shall  endure." 

In  his  lecture  on  Education  delivered  at  the  Melo- 
deon  in  Boston,  in  the  autumn  of  1864,  Emerson  gave 
expression  to  his  opinions  regarding  the  results  of  the 
recent  election.  At  the  beginning  of  this  lecture,  in 
opening  his  course  on  American  Life,  he  said,  "  The 
people  have  this  autumn  expressed  their  decision  that 
the  nation  shall  be  a  nation,  not  a  mere  meeting  and 
parting',  as  of  passengers  on  the  street-corner.  The 
unity  of  our  country  must  be  sustained  by  force ;  such 
is  the  decision  by  the  people  sobered  by  the  calamities 
of  war,  the  immense  loss  of  life,  the  heavy  burdens  of 
laxation."  Speaking  of  the  educating  power  of  war, 
lie  said  that,  "every  citizen  understands  the  issues  at 
stake,  is  ready  to  debate  them,  considers  them  a  per 
sonal  matter.  All  know  that  America  means  freedom, 
opportunity,  power."  The  next  year,  speaking  at  the 
Harvard  Commencement  festival,  he  said  "the  war 
gave  back  integrity  to  this  erring  and  immcral  nation. 
It  charged  with  power,  peaceful,  amiable  men,  to  whose 
life  war  and  discord  were  abhorrent."  And  in  his  Phi 


IN    WAR-TIME.  157 

Beta  Kappa  address  of  1867,  he  gave  an  even  more 
decided  expression  to  his  joy  at  the  success  of  the  war, 
and  his  confidence  in  the  great  destiny  of  the  American 
people.  "  No  good  citizen,  he  says,  but  shares  the  won 
derful  prosperity  of  the  Federal  Union.  The  heart  still 
beats  with  the  public  pulse  <  f  jo}^,  that  the  country  has 
withstood  the  rude  trial  which  threatened  its  existence, 
and  thrills  with  the  vast  augmentation  of  strength  which 
it  draws  frc  m  this  proof.  The  storm  which  has  been 
resisted  is  a  crown  cf  honor,  and  a  pledge  of  strength 
to  the  ship.  We  may  be  well  contented  with  our  fair 
inheritance." 

Emerson  has  always  been  a  sturdy  critic  of  our 
national  vices  and  crimes,  and  a  just  one.  He  has 
spared  no  faults,  he  has  overlooked  no  defects.  The 
real  spirit  of  the  Republic  has  always  appeared  in  him 
in  a  prominent  degree  ;  and,  more  than  almost  any  other 
American,  he  has  realized  the  destiny  of  the  country. 
"No  American  thicker  or  writer  has  taken  so  accurate 
a  parallax  of  the  true  character  of  America  and  Ameri 
cans  as  Emerson.  He  has  caught  in  the  camera  of  his 
swift  intuitions  all  their  features,  good  and  bad,  and 
has  given  them  the  grand  setting  of  his  prophetic  and 
optimistic  genius.  ISo  American  has  believed  more 
heartily  in  America  than  Emerson, — in  her  opportu 
nity,  her  power,  her  destiny."1  Because  he  has  be 
lieved  in  the  American  idea  with  a  supreme  faith,  he 
has  ever  pointed  out  our  departures  from  it,  and  been 
as  much  a  gadfly  to  Boston  and  New  England  as  Soc 
rates  was  to  Athens,  calling  men  and  the  state  alike  to 
judgment  for  their  evil  deeds.  Through  all  his  earlier 
addresses  he  asserts  the  need  of  "  creating  an  American 
sentiment,"  and  declares  the  error  of  having  our  "intel 
lectual  culture  from  one  country,  and  our  duties  from 
another."  In  one  of  these  he  says,  "  I  find  no  expres 
sion  in  our  state  papers  or  legislative  debate,  in  our 
lyceums  or  churches,  specially  in  our  newspapers,  of  a 
high  national  feeling,  no  lofty  counsels  that  rightfully 
stir  the  blood."  In  1878,  however,  in  his  Fortune  of 

i  Francis  E.  Abbott,  in  The  Index  for  Aug.  8,  1878. 


158  BALPH    WALDO    EMERSOX. 

the  Republic,  his  tone  is  that  of  confidence  and  trust, 
though  he  spares  not  our  faults.  He  finds  that  our 
Republic  "represents  the  sentiment  and  the  future  of 
mankind,"  though  he  is  still  obliged  to  tell  us  that 
"  our  political  economy  is  low  and  degrading,"  while 
we  "  consider  nothing  less  than  the  sacredness  of  man." 
Faults  enough  he  is  yet  able  to  find,  and  he  tells  us 
of  them  in  the  plainest  words ;  but  the  higher  ends  of 
national  existence  he  as  sincerely  declares. 

As  a  critic  faithful  in  pointing  out  the  conditions 
and  methods  of  social  and  moral  progress,  we  owe  him 
a  debt  we  can  never  repay  but  by  acceptance  of  his 
teachings.  He  has  been  a  true  critic,  because  recog 
nizing  the  absolute  foundations  on  which  all  truth  of 
conduct  must  rest.  He  has  tried  to  lift  us  to  "  the  ways 
and  manners  of  the  sky,"  infusing  into  our  life,  our 
thought,  and  our  literature  a  pure  and  a  lofty  sense  of 
human  responsibility. 


THE   PROPHET   RECEIVED.  159 


XII. 

THE   PROPHET   RECEIVED. 

period  from  1860  to  1870  is  that  in  which 
Emerson  secures  the  widest  hearing,  has  the  strong 
est  personal  influence  in  molding  the  thought  of  his 
time,  and  when  his  character  shines  out  in  the  most 
emphatic  manner.  He  is  less  the  critic,  more  thor 
oughly  than  at  any  other  time  in  sympathy  with  the 
purpose  and  spirit  of  his  country.  His  words  had^ 
taken  root,  and  began  to  produce  their  fruit.  He  had 
become  a  prophet  to  be  heard  gladly,  while  those  who 
differed  from  him  began  to  think  less  of  his  errors  than 
of  his  truths.  Fame  had  taken  hold  of  his  name ;  his 
countrymen  found  they  could  rejoice  in  his  reputation,- 
and,  from  being  the  admired  of  a  party,  he  became  an 
accepted  power  in  American  thought  and  literature. 
During  this  period  he  re-affirms  in  some  of  his  most 
original  essays  the  great  ideas  to  which  his  life  had 
been  devoted,  and-  finds  for  these  ideas  an  acceptance 
they  had  not  before  received. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  period  he  lost  two  of  his 
most  valued  friends ;  Parker  dying  in  1860,  and  Tho- 
reau  in  1862.  He  spoke  at  the  meeting  held  by  Parker's-^ 
society  in  Music  Hall,  in  his  commemoration,  and  paid 
an  admiring  and  noble  tribute  to  his  friend.  He  closed 
by  saying  that  "  the  sudden  and  singular  eminence  of 
Mr.  Parker,  the  importance  of  his  name  and  influence, 
are  the  verdict  of  his  country  to  his  virtues.  We  have 
few  such  men  to  lose,  he  said ;  amiable  and  blameless  at 
home  ;  feared  abroad  as  the  standard-bearer  of  liberty ; 
taking  all  the  duties  he  could  grasp ;  and,  more,  refusing 
to  spare  himself.  He  has  gone  down  in  early  glory  to 
his  grave,  to  be  a  living  and  enlarging  power,  wherever 


1GO  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

learning,  wit,  honest  valor,  and  independence  are  hon 
ored."  *  He  spoke  also  at  Thoreau's  funeral,  doing  fine 
justice  to  the  genius  of  that  rare  soul.  Thoreau,  he  said, 
"  was  made  for  the  noblest  society ;  he  had  in  a  short 
life  exhausted  the  capabilities  of  this  world ;  wherever 
there  is  knowledge,  wherever  there  is  virtue,  wherever 
there  is  beauty,  he  will  find  a  home."  This  address 
was  published  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  August,  1862, 
and  in  1866  was  reprinted  as  an  introduction  to  Tho 
reau's  writings,  appearing  in  the  Excursions.  He  helped 
to  edit  Thoreau's  Letters,  which  came  out  in  1865,  and 
to  prepare  several  other  volumes  from  his  manuscripts. 
After  Parker's  death  his  society  desired  Emerson, 
the  next  autumn,  to  give  the  first  sermon  for  them  in 
Music  Hall.  The  treatment  Parker  had  received  made 
a  strong  impression  on  his  mind,  had  alienated  him 
more  than  ever  from  the  Unitarians,  and  had  made  him 
think  the  church  cared  mainly  for  the  external  things 
of  religion.  At  this  time  he  had  reached  the  extreme 
of  his  alienation  from  the  church,  had  wholly  given  up 
prayer,  and  discontinued  nearly  all  outward  acts  of  wor 
ship.  He  was  reluctant  to  enter  Parker's  pulpit,  as  he 
could  no  longer  give  a  sermon  in  the  ordinary  sense, 
and  as  he  had  long  before  abandoned  all  thought  of 
ever  preaching  again.  He  was  urged  so  strongly,  how 
ever,  that  at  last  he  consented;  and  on  the  first  Sun 
day  said  he  was  glad  Parker  had  made  the  place  one 
of  freedom,  that  he  had  valued  religion  more  than  its 
forms.  During  several  years  he  frequently  appeared 
before  the  society,  often  on  Sundays,  while  ho  gave  a 
great  number  of  lectures  for  the  •  Parker  Fraternity. 
One  of  his  sermons2  in  Music  Hall  has  been  reported 
by  M.  D.  Con  way,  who  says  it  was  the  most  "impres 
sive  utterance  "  he  ever  heard  from  Emerson. 

"  There  was  not  one,  but  many  themes  and  texts,  and  all  related. 
'He  began  by  calling  attention  to  the  tendency  to  simplification. 
The  inventor  knows  that  a  machine  is  new  and  improvable  when  it 

1  The  remainder  of  this  address  is  printed  in  Frothiugham's  Life  of 
Parker. 

*  Fraser's  Magazine,  May,  1807. 


THE   PROPHET    RECEIVED.  161 

has  a  great  many  parts.  The  cliemists  already  find  the  infinite 
variety  of  things  contained  in  sixty-six  elements;  and  physicists 
promise  that  this  number  shall  be  reduced  to  twenty,  ten,  five. 
Faraday  declares  his  belief  that  all  things  \*  iJJ,  in  the  end,  be  re 
duced  to  one  element  with  two  polarities.  Religious  progress  has 
similarly  been  in  the  direction  of  simplification.  Every  great  re 
ligion  has  in  its  ultimate  development  told  its  wThole  secret,  con 
centrated  its  force,  in  some  simple  maxims.  In  our  youth  we  tails: 
of  the  various  virtues,  the  many  dangers  and  trials,  of  life ;  as  we 
grow  older,  we  find  ourselves  returning  to  the  proverbs  of  the 
nursery.  In  religion  one  book  serves  many  lands,  ages,  and  varieties 
of  character ;  nay,  one  or  two  golden  rules  out  of  the  book  are 
enough.  The  many  teachers  and  scriptures  are  at  last  but  various 
routes  by  which  we  always  come  to  the  simple  law  of  obedience  to 
the  light  in  the  soul.  *  Seek  nothing  outside  of  thyself,'  says  one, 
'  Believe  nothing  against  thy  own  spirit,'  echoes  another  part  of  the 
word.  Jesus  said, '  Be  lowly ;  hunger  and  thirst  after  justice ;  of  your 
own  minds  judge  what  is  right.'  Swedenborg  teaches  that  heaven 
and  hell  are  the  loves  of  the  soul.  George  Fox  removes  the  bushel 
from  the  light  within.  The  substance  of  all  morals  is,  that  a  man 
should  adhere  to  the  path  which  the  inner  light  has  marked  out 
for  him.  The  great  waste  in  the  world  comes  of  the  misapplication 
of  energy.  The  great  tragedies  of  the  soul  are  strung  on  those 
threads  not  spun  out  of  our  own  hearts.  One  records  of  Michael 
Angelo  that  he  found  him  working  on  his  statue  with  a  lamp  stuck 
in  his  cap,  and  it  might  almost  symbolize  the  holier  light  of  patient 
devotion  to  his  art.  No  matter  what"  your  work  is,  let  it  be  yours ; 
no  matter  if  you  are  tinker  or  preacher,  blacksmith  or  president, 
let  what  you  are  doing  be  organic,  let  it  be  in  your  bones,  and 
you  open  the  door  by  which  the  affluence  of  heaven  and  earth  shall 
stream  into  you.  You  shall  have  the  hidden  joy,  and  shall  carry 
success  with  you.  Look  to  yourself  rather  than  to  materials ; 
nothing  is  unmanageable  to  a  good  hand ;  no  place  slippery  to  a 
good  foot ;  all  things  are  clear  to  a  good  head.  The  sin  of  dogma 
tism,  of  creeds  and  catechisms,  is  that  they  destroy  mental  character. 
The  youth  says  that  he  believes  when  he  is  only  brow-beaten ;  lie 
says  he  thinks  so  and  so,  when  that  so  and  so  are  the  denial  of  any 
right  to  think.  Simplicity  and  grandeur  are  thus  lost,  and  with 
them  the  sentiment  of  obligation  to  a  principle  of  life  and  honor, 
hi  the  legends  of  the  Round  Table  it  is  told,  that  a  witch,  wishing 
to  make  her  child  supremely  wise,  prepared  certain  herbs,  and  put 
them  in  a  pot  to  boil,  intending  to  bathe  the  child's  eyes  with  the 
decoction.  She  set  a  shepherd-boy  to  stir  the  pot  whilst  she  went 
away.  Whilst  he  stirred  it,  a  raven  dropped  a  twig  into  the  pot, 
which  spattered  three  drops  of  the  liquid  into  the  shepherd's  eyes. 
Immediately  all  the  future  became  as  if  passing  before  his  eyes ; 
and,  seeing  that  when  the  witch  returned  she  meant  to  kill  him,  he 
left  the  pot,  and  fled  to  the  woods.  Now,  if  three  drops  of  that 
all-revealing  decoction  should  suddenly  get  into  the  eyes  of  every 
human  being  crowding  along  Broadway  some  day,  how  many  of 


EALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

them  would  still  go  on  with  the  affair  they  are  pursuing  on  the 
street?  Probably  they  would  nearly  all  come  to  a  dead  stand. 
But  there  would,  let  us  hope,  be  here  and  there  a  happy  child  of 
the  Most  High,  who  had  taken  hold  of  her  or  his  life's  thread  by 
sacred  appointment.  These  would  move  on  without  even  a  pause. 
The  unveiled  future  would  show  the  fatality  of  many  schemes,  the 
idleness  of  many  labors ;  but  every  genial  aim  would  only  be  ex 
alted,  and  shown  in  their  eternal  and  necessary  relations.  Finally, 
humility  was,  the  speaker  declared,  the  one  element  to  which  all 
virtues  are  reducible.  '  It  was  revealed  unto  me,'  said  the  old 
Quaker,  '  that  what  other  men  trample  on  must  be  thy  food.'  It 
is  the  spirit  that  accepts  our  trust,  and  is  thus  the  creator  of  char 
acter  and  the  guide  to  power. 

"  In  closing  this  discourse,  the  speaker  read  at  length  the  story 
of  the  proposed  humiliation,  and  the  victory  through  humility,  of 
Fra  Christoforo,  in  Manzoni's  Promessi  Sposi.  I  regret  that  I  can 
not  give  a  report  verbatim  of  this  extraordinary  discourse,  which 
produced  an  effect  on  those  who  heard  it  beyond  any  thing  that  I 
ever  witnessed,  many  being  moved  at  times  to  tears.  I  went  with 
pencil  and  paper,  intending  to  take  down  as  much  as  I  could ;  but 
at  the  end  of  the  hour  occupied  by  it,  the  paper  remained  blank, 
and  the  pencil  had  been  forgotten.  I  can  therefore  only  produce 
the  record  of  my  impressions  of  it,  as  they  were  written  down  the 
same  day." 

In  July,  1861,  he  gave  an  address  before  one  of  the 
societies  of  Tufts  College.  He  said,  that  while  the 
brute  cannon  was  being  heard,  and  though  it  found  a 
poetic  echo  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  regarded  it  as  an 
instrument  of  freedom,  it  should  not  be  allowed  to  in 
trude  upon  the  sanctity  of  a  truly  intellectual  occasion. 
He  urged  the  students  in  a  time  of  conflict  to  rely  upon 
those  better  weapons  of  the  mind;  for  the  institution 
of  learning  is  in  all  times  the  ark  of  deliverance,  and 
many  feet  should  constantly  turn  towards  it.  A  great 
natLmal  failure  would  be  due  solely  to  a  lack  of  duty 
on  the  part  of  the  college,  using  that  word  in  its  very 
broadest  sense.  If  the  college-bred  man  leaves  his 
altar  and  his  library,  and  plays  the  sycophant,  then  the 
institution  is  nothing  more  than  a  suicidal  hospital  of 
decayed  tutors  or  a  musty  shop  <  f  old  books.  Here 
you  are  to  become  thinkers,  to  learn  the  art  of  com 
mand.  The  thought  secured  is  higher  than  its  instru 
ment,  as  the  general  is  greater  than  the  park  of  artil 
lery.  Many  have  written  of  a  new  revival  of  religion 


THE   PROPHET   RECEIVED.  163 

and  letters ;  but  the  true  revival  is  that  of  the  human 
mind,  so  that  man's  duty  may  extend  to  the  proper 
use  of  his  intellectual  powers.  This  change  must  be 
brought  about  by  a  revival  of  the  popular  science  of 
mind.  Every  man  who  looks  sincerely  and  with  thought 
will  find  a  power  within  him  which  knows  more  than 
he  does.  Simple  wisdom  is  beyond  all  acquirements. 
It  is  felt  in  its  presence  only,  like  the  ubiquitous  rays 
of  the  sun.  This  inner  knowledge,  when  it  flows  forth 
under  happy  circumstances,  is  called  genius.  In  the 
time  of  youth,  minds  become  skeptical  unless  this 
declaration  is  made  that  truth  exists.  Youth  should 
keep  the  intellectual  position  sacred,  and  wait  long  and 
patiently.  Go  sit  with  that  hermit  within  you,  he  said, 
who  knows  more  than  you  do,  and  learn  of  him.  You 
are  all  to  stand  before  an  examining  committee  of  the 
world,  and  must  be  true  to  yourselves. 

In  November,  1864,  he  began  a  course  of  lectures 
on  American  Life  before  the  I3arker  Fraternity.  They 
were  given  on  Sunday  evenings ;  and  the  subjects  were, 
Public  and  Private  Education,  Social  Aims,  Resources, 
Table-talk,  Books,  Character.  The  lecture  on  Books 
has  since  appeared  in  his  Society  and  Solitude,  and  those 
on  Social  Aims  and  Resources  in  Letters  and  Social 
Aims;  while  that  on  Character  was  printed  in  the 
North  American  Review  for  1866. 

This  course  of  lectures  was  well  attended.  The  lec 
ture  on  Table-talk  was  a  fine  discussion  of  the  advan 
tages  of  conversation ;  and  it  "  swarmed  with  bright 
sayings,  appropriate  illustrations,  interesting  literary 
anecdotes,  and  incisive  comments  on  social  character." 
In  1865  he  spoke  at  the  Commencement  festival  at 
Harvard,  and  gave  a  lecture  on  Literature  before  one 
of  the  Amherst  societies.  In  January,  1866,  he  gave 
a  course  of  lectures  in  Chickering  Hall,  Boston,  Satur 
days  at  noon,  on  Philosophy  for  the  People.  He  spoke 
of  the  Seven  Meters  of  Intellect ;  Instinct,  Perception, 
Talent ;  Grenius,  Imagination,  Taste ;  Laws  of  the  Mied ; 
Conduct  of  the  Intellect;  Relation  cf  Intellect  to  Mcr- 
als.  •  Other  lectures  of  this  winter  were,  the  Man  of  the 


1G4  EALPII   WALDO   EMERSON. 

World,  Eloquence,  Immortality,  the  Rule  of  Life,  and  an 
address  on  the  reception  of  the  Chinese  embassy.  In 
the  lecture  on  Eloquence,  he  said  John  Brown  gave  at 
Charlestown  "  the  best  speech  made  in  the  nineteenth 
century."  In  his  lecture  on  Genius,  Imagination,  and 
Taste,  however,  he  said  Daniel  Webster  and  Father 
Taylor  were  the  only  two  men  who  had  reached  his 
ideal  of  oratory. 

He  took  much  interest  in  the  Free  Religious  Associa 
tion,  and  attended  the  meeting  for  its  organization  held 
in  Horticultural  Hall,  May  30,  1867.  The  men  who 
led  in  this  movement  had  been  largely  influenced  by 
him,  owing  to  him  their  main  thought  and  purpose. 
They  had  nearly  all  been  connected  with  the  Unitari 
ans,  and  left  them  for  much  the  same  reasons  he  did. 
To  study  religion  as  a  universal  sentiment,  to  find  the 
sources  of  its  world-wide  manifestation  in  man,  to  re 
gard  all  its  forms  as  expressions  of  the  same  funda 
mental  principles,  —  these  objects  of  the  new  association 
had  been  for  many  years  among  his  most  cherished 
ideas.  At  a  subsequent  meeting,  Alcott  declared  that 
Emerson  was  the  father  of  the  movement.1  His  ear 
nest  sympathy  with  the  original  purpose  and  spirit  of 
the  association  is  clearly  shown  in  his  address  on  this 
occasion. 

"  I  think  the  necessity  very  great  that  invites  all  classes,  all  reli 
gious  men,  whatever  their  connections,  whatever  their  specialties, 
in  whatever  relation  they  stand  to  Christianity,  to  unite  in  a  move 
ment;  of  benefit  to  men,  under  the  sanction  of  religion.  We  are 
all  very  sensible  —  it  is  forced  on  us  every  day  —  of  the  feeling 
that  the  churches  are  outgrown,  that  the  creeds  are  outgrown,  that 
a  technical  theology  no  longer  suits  us.  It  is  not  the  ill-will  of 
people,  no,  indeed!  but  the  incapacity  for  confirming  themselves 
there. 

"  The  church  is  not  large  enough  for  the  man;  it  can  not  inspire 
thf>  enthusiasm  which  is  the  parent  of  every  good  in  history,  which 
makes  the  romance  of  history.  For  that  enthusiasm  you  must 
have  something  greater  than  yourselves,  and  not  less. 

"  The  child,  the  young  student,  finds  scope  in  his  mathematics 
and  chemistry,  or  natural  history,  because  he  finds  a  truth  larger 
than  he  is,  finds  himself  continually  instructed.  But,  in  the 

1  Freedom  and  Fellowship  in  Religion,  p.  408. 


THE   PFtOPHET    RECEIVED. 

churches,  every  healthy  and  thoughtful  mind  finds  itself  in  some 
thing  less ;  it  is  checked,  cribbed,  confined ;  and  the  statistics  of 
the  American,  the  English,  and 'the  German  cities,  showing  that 
the  mass  of  the  population  is  leaving  off  going  to  church,  indi 
cate  the  necessity  which  should  have  been  foreseen,  that  the  church 
should  always  be  new  and  extemporized,  because  it  is  eternal,  and 
springs  from  the  sentiment  of  men,  or  it  does  not  exist.  One 
Wonders,  sometimes,  that  the  churches  retain  so  many  votaries 
^  hen  he  reads  the  histories  of  the  church.  There  is  an  element 
of  childish  infatuation  in  them  which  does  not  exalt  our  respect 
for  man.  Read  in  Michelet,  that  in  Europe,  for  twelve  or  fourteen 
centuries,  God  the  Father  had  no  temple  and  no  altar.  The  Holy 
Ghost  and  the  son  of  Mary- were  worshiped;  and  in  the  fourteenth 
century  the  First  Person  began  to  appear  at  the  side  of  his  son  in 
pictures  and  in  sculpture,  for  worship,  but  only  through  favor  of 
his  son.  These  mortifying  puerilities  abound  in  religious  history. 
But  as  soon  as  every  man  is  apprised  of  the  divine  presence  within 
his  own  mind,  —  is  apprised  that  the  perfect  law  of  duty  corre 
sponds  with  the  laws  of  chemistry,  of  vegetation,  of  astronomy,  as 
face  to  face  in  a  glass,  that  the  basis  of  duty,  the  order  of  society, 
the  power  of  character,  the  wealth  of  culture,  the  perfection  of 
taste,  all  draw  their  essence  from  this  moral  sentiment,  then  wr 
have  a  religion  that  exalts,  that  commands  all  the  social  and  ail 
the  private  action. 

"  What  strikes  me  in  the  sudden  movement  which  brings  to 
gether  to-day  so  many  separated  friends,  —  separated  but  sympa 
thetic,  —  and  what  I  expected  to  find  here  was,  some  practical 
suggestions  by  which  we  were  to  re-animate  and  re-organize  for  our 
selves  the  true  church,  the  pure  worship.  Pure  doctrine  always 
bears  fruit  in  pure  benefits.  It  is  only  by  good  works,  it  is  only 
on  the  basis  of  active  duty,  that  worship  finds  expression.  What 
is  best  in  the  ancient  religions  was  the  sacred  friendships  between 
heroes,  the  sacred  bands,  and  the  relations  of  the  Pythagorean  dis 
ciples. 

"  The  close  association  which  bound  the  first  disciples  of  Jesus 
is  another  example,  and  it  were  easy  to  find  more.  The  soul  of 
our  late  war,  which  will  always  be  remembered  as  dignifying  it, 
was,  first,  the  desire  to  abolish  slavery  in  this  country  ;  and  secondly, 
to  abolish  the  mischief  of  the  war  itself,  by  healing  and  saving  the 
sick  and  wounded  soldiers,  —  and  this  by  the  sacred  bands  of  the 
Sanitary  Commission.  I  wish  that  the  various  beneficent  institu 
tions,  which  are  springing  up  like  joyful  plants  of  wholesomeness 
all  over  this  country,  shoiild  all  be  remembered  as  within  the  sphere 
of  this  committee,  —  almost  all  of  them  are  represented  here,  —  and 
that  within,  this  little  band  which  has  gathered  to-day,  should  grow 
friendship..  ^ The  interests  that  grow  out  of  a  meeting  like  this, 
should  bind  us  with  new  strength  to  the  old  eternal  duties." 


166  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

Emerson  was  made  an  Overseer  of  Harvard  Univer« 
sity  July  17,  1867;  and  at  the  commencement  of  that 
year  the  honorary  degree  of  LL.D.  was  conferred  upon 
him.  It  was  at  this  time,  also,  he  gave  his  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  address  on  the  Progress  of  Culture,  since  pub 
lished  in  Letters  and  Social  Aims.  Harvard  was  for 
many  years  strongly  opposed  to  him,  and  from  its  pro 
fessors  came  many  of  the  severest  criticisms  he  received. 
His  heresies,  his  Divinity-School  address  of  1838,  his 
criticism  of  Everett  and  Webster,  his  sympathy  with 
the  anti-slavery  cause,  had  made  him  long  obnoxious  to 
the  conservative  tendencies  of  Harvard.  He  had  gone 
steadily  on  his  way,  however,  until  public  opinion  had 
come  round  to  his  side ;  and  then  Harvard  did  herself 
the  honor  to  forget  all  and  show  him  just  recognition. 
It  was  a  triumph  on  his  part,  nobly  won  and  richly 
deserved.  His  critics  had  become  his  admirers,  his 
heresies  were  forgotten  ;  and  his  genius,  his  rare  merits, 
his  pure  life,  only  were  remembered.  His  address  was 
full  of  hope  and  courage,  richly  suggestive  with  those 
great  ideas  he  had  preached  for  so  many  years.  It  was 
a  strong  plea  for  the  truest  culture,  as  the  best  promise 
of  the  American  people.  The  words  with  which  he 
brought  his  address  to  an  end,  so  earnest  with  faith  in 
the  future  are  they,  show  with  what  hope  he  now  con 
templates  the  Republic  :  — 

"  Brothers,  I  draw  new  hope  from  the  atmosphere  we  breathe 
to-day,  from  the  healthy  sentiment  of  the  American  people,  and 
from  the  avowed  aims  and  tendencies  of  the  educated  class.  The 
age  has  new  convictions.  We  know  that  in  certain  historic  periods 
there  have  been  times  of  negation,  —  a  decay  of  thought,  and  a 
consequent  national  decline  ;  that  in  France,  at  one  time,  there 
was  almost  a  repudiation  of  the  moral  sentiment,  in  what  is  called, 
by  distinction,  society,  —  not  a  believer  within  the  church,  and 
almost  not  a  theist  out  of  it.  In  England  the  like  spiritual  dis 
ease  affected  the  upper  class  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.,  and  down 
into  the  reign  of  the  Georges.  But  it  honorably  distinguishes  the 
educated  class  here,  that  they  believe  in  the  succor  which  the  heart 
yields  to  the  intellect,  and  draw  greatness  from  its  aspirations. 
And  when  I  say  the  educated  class,  I  know  what  a  benignant 
breadth  that  word  has,  —  new  in  the  world,  —  reaching  millions 
instead  of  hundreds.  And  more,  when  I  look  around  me,  and 


THE   PKOPHET   RECEIVED.  167 

consider  the  sound  material  of  which  the  cultivated  class  here  is 
made  up,  —  what  high  personal  worth,  what  love  of  men,  what 
hope,  is  joined  with  rich  information  and  practical  power,  and 
that  the  most  distinguished  by  genius  and  culture  are  in  this  class 
of  benefactors,  —  I  can  not  distrust  this  great  knighthood  of  virtue, 
or  doubt  that  the  interests  of  science,  of  letters,  of  politics  and 
humanity,  are  safe.  I  think  their  hands  are  strong  enough,  to  hold 
up  the  Republic.  I  read  the  promise  of  better  times  and  of  greater 
men." 

In  1867  May-Day  was  published.  Of  the  minor 
pieces  joined  with  it,  many  had  previously  appeared  in 
The  Atlantic  Monthly.  It  was  received  with  general 
approbation.  In  The  North  American  Review  Charles 
Eliot  Norton  said,  that  "  his  poems  are  for  the  most 
part  more  fitted  to  invigorate  the  moral  sense  than  to 
delight  the  artistic.  At  times,  indeed,  he  is  singularly 
felicitous  in  expression ;  and  some  of  his  verses  both 
charm  and  elevate  the  soul.  These  rare  verses  will 
live  in  the  memories  of  men.  No  poet  is  surer  of 
immortality  than  Mr.  Emerson ;  but  the  greater  part 
of  his  poetry  will  be  read,  not  so  much  for  its  artistic 
as  for  its  moral  worth."  This  is  discriminating  and 
just:  but  W.  D.  Ho  wells,  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  is 
even  more  enthusiastic  in  his  praise  of  the  genius  and 
originality  of  Emerson's  poetry.  ''Everywhere  the 
poet's  felicity  of  expression  appears,  he  says ;  a  for 
tunate  touch  transfuses  some  dark  enigma  with  color ; 
the  riddles  are  made  to  shine  when  most  impenetrable ; 
the  puzzles  are  all  constructed  of  gold  and  ivory  arid 
precious  stones."  In  a  discerning  essay  l  on  Emerson's 
poems,  E.  P.  Whipple  said,v; — 

"  As  an  artist,  Mr.  Emerson  exhibits  the  same  fidelity  to  his 
own  ideas  which  he  has  always  taken  for  his  guide  in  the  pursuit 
of  truth.  The  construction  of  his  verse  is  as  unique  as  his  mental 
idiosyncrasy.  It  certainly  betrays  incidentally  the  proof  of  a  rare 
poetic  culture.  His  masterly  command  of  English  shows  a  careful 
study  of  the  best  sources  of  the  language ;  but  not  a  sign  of 
imitation  can  be  found  in  his  writings,  —  not  even  the  use  of  the 
imagery  whidh  has  been  consecrated  by  the  habit  of  ages,  llis 
lines  are  often  abrupt,  sometimes  a  little  uncouth,  but  never 

1  In  the  New  York  Independent, 


168  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

deficient  in  masculine  strength.  With  no  pretension  to  the  finish 
and  smoothness  which  give  grace  to  the  poems  of  Tennyson,  they 
present  frequent  surprises  of  dainty  melody,  and  charm  as  much 
by  the  sweetness  of  their  flow  as  by  the  grandeur  of  their  thought." 

In  October  and  November,  1868,  he  gave  a  course  of 
lectures  in  the  Meionaon.     His  subjects  were,  Art,  Poe 
try  and   Criticism,  Historical  Notes  of  American  Life 
and  Letters,  Hospitality  and  How  to  Make  Homes  At 
tractive,  Greatness,  Leasts  and  Mosts.     He  was  greeted 
with   large    and   enthusiastic    audiences.      Among   his 
hearers  were  Fields,  'Phillips,  Lowell,  Pierce,  Wasson, 
Hunt,  and  many  professional  and  literary  people.     In 
January,  1869,  he  gave  in  Chickering  Hall  a  course  of 
ten  readings   from    his  favorite    authors.     The  attend 
ance  was  limited  to  one  hundred.     He  read  from  the 
whole  ^  range  of  English  poetry,  interspersed  with  con 
versation    and    criticism.       One    of    the   readings   was 
wholly  from  Milton;    and   he    also   occasionally  intro 
duced  specimens   from    the  poetry  of   other  countries. 
This  year  he  read  a  paper  before  the  Woman's  Club, 
devoted  to  personal  recollections,  and  with  many  bio 
graphical  extracts  from  his  diaries..    He  spoke  in  the 
Sunday-evening   lecture-course  of  the    Free    Religious 
Association,  and  in  May  gave  an  address  at  its  annual 
meeting.       In  April  and  May,  1870,  he  gave  fourteen 
lectures  in  the  philosophical  courses  in  Harvard   Uni 
versity.     These  lectures  were  given  three  in  each  week, 
but  were  attended  by  only  a  very  small  number  of  per 
sons,  as  they  were    outside    the    usual   studies   of  the 
University.      They  were    based   on   lectures   given    in 
previous   years,  with   such   additional    observations   as 
seemed  pertinent  to  the  subjects.     The  general  title  was 
The    Natural    History  of   the    Intellect.      In    the    first 
lecture,  given  April  26,  he  said  he  should   follow   no 
system,  and  that  his  lectures  would  be  only  the  dotting 
of  a  little  curve   of   personal    experience.      He  would 
give  merely  the  results  of  observation,  and  his  course 
would  not  be  the  laying  bare  of  new  truths  necessarily. 
lie  would  attempt  to  give  a  few  anecdotes  of  the  intel 
lect,  a  mere  jotting  down  of  observed  facts,  a  farmer's 


THE   PROPHET    RECEIVED.  169 

almanac  of  mental  moods.  The  strict  analysis  of  the 
intellect  he  would  leave  to  others,  for  the  reason  that 
system-makers  are  but  gnats  attempting  to  grasp  the 
universe.  He  said  that  metaphysics  must  alternate 
with  life,  and  to  be  truthful  must  come  from  a  live 
mind  in  a  practical  life.  The  outsiders  have  done  the 
most  for  philosophy,  he  said,  not  those  who  have  been 
analyzers  by  profession.  He  quoted  this  sentence  from 
Augustine,  as  expressing  the  spirit  of  his  lectures  :  "  Let 
others  wrangle ;  I  will  wonder."  The  second  lecture 
was  devoted  to  the  general  subject  of  the  mind,  the 
third  to  instinct,  the  fourth  to  perception,  and  the  fifth 
to  memory.  Then  followed  a  discussion  of  the  value 
of  imagination,  in  two  lectures.  After  that,  inspiration 
became  the  topic,  the  essay  on  that  subject  in  Letters 
and  Social  Aims  being  given.  It  was  also  continued 
through  two  lectures,  branching  out  into  a  defense  of 
genius.  In  the  tenth  lecture,  common  sense  and  genius 
were  contrasted.  In  the  remaining  lectures,  the  laws  of 
the  mind  were  dealt  with.  An  attempt  seems  to  have 
been  made 'in  these  lectures  to  give  a  somewhat  more 
systematic  presentation  of  his  theories  than  he  had 
clone  before.  They  contained  nothing  new,  and  which 
he  had  not  before  said  in  his  books ;  but  he  dwelt  some 
what  more  distinctly  on  the  main  features  of  his  phi 
losophy. 

In  1870  Society  and  Solitude  was  published.  Many 
of  its  essays  had  long  before  been  given  to  the  public 
as  lectures ;  that  on  Art  was  printed  in  The  Dial,  and 
the  one  on  Farming  was  delivered  in  Concord  in  1858. 
That  on  Books  was  given  as  a  lecture  in  England  in 
1848,  those  on  Society  and  Solitude  and  Old  Age 
appeared  in  the  first  volumes  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly, 
while  the  one  on  Civilization  was  a  portion  of  the 
Washington  address  of  1862.  Higginson  saw  in  these 
essays  a" greater  variety  and  a  more  distinct  organic  life 
than  in  tha.  earlier  ones,  while  they  are  no  less  finished 
and  scarcely  less  concentrated.  "  It  is  not  enough  to 
r.-vy  that  such  papers  as  these  constitute  the  high-water 
mark  of  American  literature ;  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 


170  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

that  they  are  unequalled  in  the  literature  of  the  age. 
Name,  if  you  can,  the  Englishman  or  the  Frenchman, 
who,  on  themes  like  these,  must  not  own  himself  second 
to  Emerson." 

In  April  and  May,  1871,  he  spent  six  weeks  in  Cali 
fornia  with  a  party  of  intimate  friends  ;  and  he  delivered 
a  few  lectures  while  there.  In  August  he  gave  an 
address  at  a  meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society  on  the  one  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  birth 
of  Walter  Scott.  It  was  eloquent  with  thought,  and  in 
dicated  a  discriminating  and  hearty  appreciation  of 
Scott's  genius.  In 'April  he  gave  six  lectures  and  read 
ings  in  Mechanics'  Hall,  at  three  o'clock  Monday  after 
noons.  His  first  lecture  was  on  literature ;  and  he  read 
from  Mrs.  Helen  Hunt  Jackson,  Ben  Jonson,  David 
Lewis,  Henry  Thoreau,  and  one  or  two  others.  In  one 
of  his  lectures  he  spoke  of  Byron,  who  was  called  the 
most  skillful  poet  of  his  time  in  the  use  of  the  English 
language.  In  the  last  one  he  spoke  of  the  effects  of 
culture  on  the  soul,  and  its  influence  in  the  formation 
of  ideas  about  life  and  destiny.  The  Boston  Journal 
gave  the  following  account  of  the  impression  made  by 
these  lectures :  — 

"  The  same  consummate  magnetism  lingers  around  and  upon 
every  phrase ;  there  is  the  same  thrilling  earnestness  of  antithesis, 
the  same  delight  and  brooding  over  poetry  and  excellence  of  ex 
pression,  as  of  old.  There  is  no  other  man  in  America  who  can, 
by  the  mere  force  of  what  he  says,  enthrall  and  dominate  an 
audience.  Breathless  attention  is  given,  although  now  and  then 
his  voice  falls  away  so  that  those  seated  farthest  oif  have  to  strain 
every  nerve  to  catch  the  words.  The  grand  condensation,  the 
unfaltering  and  almost  cynical  brevity  of  expression,  are  at  first 
startling  and  vexatious ;  but  presently  one  yields  to  the  charm,  and 
finds  his  mind  in  the  proper  assenting  mood.  The  loving  tender 
ness  with  wrhich  Emerson  lingers  over  a  fine  and  thoroughly 
expressive  phrase  is  beyond  description.  It  thrills  the  whole  audi 
ence;  arrests  universal  attention.  The  sacredness  of  the  printed 
page  is  interpreted  in  a  new  and  universal  light.  There  is  the 
same  passionate  adoration  displayed  over  a  fine  line  from  a  sonnet, 
or  lavished  upon  one  of  Thoreau's  quaint  conceits,  which  Ingres 
bestowed  upon  a  specimen  of  pure  drawing.  The  innate  and 
inexhaustible  love  of  beauty,  softening  and  permeating  every  utter 
ance,  infusing  its  delicate  glow  and  its  delicious  harmony  into  each 


THE   PROPHET   RECEIVED.  171 

idea,  and  investing  abstractions  with  the  charms  ol  real  auu.  vivid 
beings,  triumphs. over  age  and  diffidence,  gives  to  the  austere  and 
unworldly  philosopher  the  bloom  and  enthusiasm  of  the  lover  and 
the  poet." 

In  1864  he  contributed  a  preface  to  an  American 
edition  of  the  G-ulistdn,  or  Rose  Garden,  of  Saadi.1  He 
had  greatly  admired  this  poet,  and  his  account  is  full 
of  praise.  It  brings  out  very  clearly  the  Oriental  side 
of  Emerson's  mind,  and  shows  his  acquaintance  with 
Eastern  literature.  "  When  once  the  works  of  these 
poets,  he  says,  are  made  accessible,  they  must  draw 
the  curiosity  of  good  readers.  It  is  provincial  to  ignore 
them.  The  monotones  we  accuse,  he  goes  on  to  say, 
accuse  our  own.  We  pass  into  a  new  landscape,  new 
costume,  new  religion,  new  manners  and  customs,  un 
der  which  humanity  nestles  very  comfortably  at  Shiraz 
and  Mecca,  with  good  appetite,  and  with  moral  and 
intellectual  results  that  correspond  point  for  point  with 
ours  at  New  York  and  London." 

To  Professor  Goodwin's  edition  of  Plutarch's  Morals, 
published  in  1870,  he  wrote  a  preface.  He  gave  a  very 
interesting  account  of  the  literary  history  of  Plutarch 
since  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  restoration  of  Greek  lit 
erature.  Some  of  the  lesser  works  attributed  to  Plutarch 
he  believes  unworthy  of  him,  being  either  the  notes  of 
his  pupils,  or  matter  accidentally  added  to  his  writings. 
Having  spoken  of  the  claim  that  Plutarch  was  a  Chris 
tian  in  his  teaching,  he  says,  "  His  thoughts  are  excel 
lent,  if  only  he  had  a  right  to  say  them."  In  the  com 
pany  of  the  world's  heroes  Plutarch  will  "sit  as  the 
bestower  of  the  crown  of  noble  knighthood,  and  laure 
ate  of  the  ancient  world."  He  says,  at  the  end  of  his 
essay,  — 

"  It  is  a  service  to  our  Republic  to  publish  a  book  that  can  force 
ambitious  young  men,  before  they  mount  the  platform  of  the 
county  conventions,  to  read  the  '  Apothegms  of  Great  Command 
ers.'  If  we  could  keep  the  secret  and  communicate  it  only  to  a 
few  chosen  aspirants,  we  might  confide,  that,  by  this  noble  infiltra 
tion,  they  would  easily  carry  the  victory  over  all  competitors. 

1  Printed  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly  for  July,  1864. 


172  EALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

But  as  it  was  the  desire  of  these  old  patriots  to  fill,  with  their 
majestic  spirit,  all  Sparta  and  Rome,  and  not  a  few  leaders  only, 
we  hasten  to  offer  them  to  the  American  public." 

In  January,  1872,  being  in  Washington,  he  was  in 
vited  to  visit  Howard  University,  which  he  did.  While 
there  he  was  called  on  to  speak  to  the  students.  In  an 
entirely  extemporaneous  manner  he  expressed  his  great 
regard  for  books  as  a  means  of  education,  said  that  each 
mind  has  a  specialty  of  its  own  which  must  guide  the 
person  in  selecting  his  profession,  and,  apologizing  for 
not  being  prepared  to  speak,  suggested  that  a  topic 
would  help  him  to  say  something  to  the  purpose.  His 
opinions  of  books  being  asked  for,  he  spoke  of  Gibbon, 
Boswell's  Johnson,  Shakspere,  Burke,  and  Goethe,  with 
high  praise  of  each.  Concerning  the  selection  of  a  pro 
fession,  he  said,  — 

"  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  every  mind  that  comes  into  the  world 
has  its  own  specialty ;  it  is  different  from  every  other  mind ;  that 
each  of  you  brings  into  the  world  a  certain  bias,  a  disposition  to 
attempt  something  of  its  own,  —  something  your  own,  — an  aim  a 
little  different  from  that  of  your  companions  ;  and  that  every  young 
man  and  woman  is  a  failure  so  long  as  each  does  not  find  what  is 
his  or  her  own  bias ;  that  just  so  long  as  you  are  influenced  by 
those  around  you,  so  long  as  you  are  doing  those  things  you  see 
others  do  well  instead  of  doing  that  thing  which  you  can  do  well, 
you  are  so  far  wrong,  so  far  failing  of  your  own  right  mark.  .  .  . 
I  conceive  that  success  is  in  finding  what  it  is  that  you  yourself 
really  want,  and  pursuing  it ;  freeing  yourself  from  all  importuni 
ties  of  your  friends  to  do  something  which  they  like,  and  insisting 
upon  that  thing  which  you  like  and  can  do.  ... 

"  The  multitude  of  professions  is  endless,  and  in  a  right  state  of 
society  the  objects  and  aims  will  be  much  more  numerous.  For 
instance,  in  the  German  universities  now,  instead  of  having  five  or 
six  or  ten  professorships,  they  have  sixty  or  one  hundred,  —  the 
division  of  the  sciences,  the  division  of  the  parts  of  great  classes 
of  knowledge,  requiring  so  many  instructors.  Well,  I  think  that 
with  the  progress  of  society,  the  divisions  of  employments  will  not 
be  sixty  or  one  hundred,  but  thousands ;  and  finally,  if  one  should 
say  it,  as  many  as  there  are  men,  as  many  as  there  are  women, 
that  the  aims  will  be  as  many  as  there  are  individual  souls.  There 
fore  I  wish  that  each  young  person  should  learn  that  secret,  that 
he  only  can  tell  himself  what  it  is  that  he  is  to  do.  It  is  revealed 
to  him  in  the  progress  of  his  mind,  always  becoming  revealed  more 
distinctly,  what  that  object  is.  He  did  not  know  it  when  he  was 


THE   PEOPHET   RECEIVED.  173 

a  child ;  he  did  not  know  it  when  he  was  a  boy ;  but,  as  his  mind 
expands,  all  is  slowly  revealed  to  him ;  revealed  to  him  by  every 
effort  he  makes  in  this  direction  or  against  it.  For,  when  he  is  labor 
ing  against  his  proper  calling,  he  finds  himself  met  with  obstacles 
that  increase  as  he  goes.  When  he  is  following  his  proper  mission, 
the  leading  of  his  inward  guide,  he  is  assisted  by  every  step  which 
he  takes.  The  purpose  for  which  he  is  made  is  always  becoming 
more  clear  to  him.  I  believe  that  for  every  active  mind,  in  its  own 
direction,  there  is  a  thought  waking  every  morning,  a  new  thought ; 
that  every  day  brings  now  instruction  and  facility;  that  even  in 
the  dreams  of  the  night  we  are  helped  forward.  There  is  a  great 
difference  in  our  activity  of  mind.  Sometimes  we  have  heavy 
periods,  when  we  don't  think  for  days  or  weeks  or  months ;  then, 
periods  of  activity.  I  think  these  depend  very  much  upon  our 
selves,  upon  our  good  behavior.  If  we  use  our  opportunities,  op 
portunities  are  multiplied.  If  we  neglect  them,  if  we  give  up  to 
idle  pleasures  and  amusements,  they  are  withdrawn.  The  idle 
person  ceases  to  have  thoughts.  The  active  person  is  always 
assisted.  There  are  a  great  many  mysterious  facts  in  our  history, 
which  the  mind,  attentive  to  itself,  will  always  discover,  and  the 
admonitions  that  come  thence." 

The  interest  manifested  in  his  conversational  address 
to  this  company  of  colored  students  was  one  of  many 
indications  that  the  prophet  was  at  last  accepted  by  his 
countrymen.  Yet  his  own  modesty  forbade  his  assum 
ing  any  honors  to  himself;  and  he  said  to  these  stu 
dents,  "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  speaking  with  classes 
of  young  persons  very  much.  And  I  myself,  I  ought  to 
say,  am  a  solitary  man,  living  in  the  country,  and  seeing 
few  people.  Now  and  then  I  go  to  Boston  or  elsewhere 
and  read  a  paper  to  a  class,  but  seldom  speak  in  any 
other  manner."  Had  he  been  less  modest,  less  retiring 
and  reticent,  he  would  have  made  a  greater  outward 
impression  upon  his  country ;  but  his  real  power  and 
influence  have  been  more  subtly  felt  and  more  deeply 
exerted,  because  he  has  sought  no  applause  and  desired 
no  praise.  He  has  persistently  refused  to 'believe  that 
his  influence  has  been  great  upon  American  thought, 
modestly  shrinking  from  the  praises  of  his  co-workers, 
and  saying  that  his  success  was  owing  to  the  time  in 
which  he  has  lived. 

The  experiences  of  these  ten  years,  including  the 
period  of  the  great  Rebellion  and  the  work  of  recon- 


174  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

struction  of  the  Republic,  made  Emerson  more  than 
ever  the  prophet  of  good  and  the  inspirer  of  hope. 
Age  brought  with  it  an  even  warmer  glow  of  interest 
in  his  fellow-men ;  and  the  new  life  of  the  Republic 
brought  to  him  an  enlarged  perception  of  the  organic 
life  of  the  race  in  its  relations  to  morals  and  religion. 
He  came  to  see  a  new  value  in  a  united  religious  life 
for  the  people,  though  abating  no  jot  of  his  soul-trust. 
As  much  as  ever  he  rejected  religion  as  a  piece  of  his 
tory,  as  a  repetition  of  what  had  been  said  of  old  time ; 
but  he  realized  more  than  before  how  it  is  that  great 
deeds  can  be  accomplished  by  the  common  faith  and 
intuitions  of  a  people.  He  came  more  and  more  to  live 
in  an  atmosphere  of  calm  and  abiding  faith,  to  believe 
with  an  even  more  pronounced  conviction  that  all 
things  work  together  for  good. 


THE  VOICE   AT  EVE.  175 


XIII. 

THE   VOICE   AT   EVE*. 

T^ARLY  in  the  morning  of  July  24,  1872,  Emerson 
J--^  discovered  that  his  house  was  on  fire.  The  roof 
and  the  upper  rooms  were  much  burned;  but  every 
thing  was  speedily  removed  by  his  neighbors,  including 
his  library  and  manuscripts.  The  family  found  refuge 
in  the  "  Old  Manse." 

Oct.  15  he  attended  a  complimentary  dinner  in  New 
York  in  honor  of  James  Anthony  Froude,  and  made  a 
brief  address..  He  said  that. Froude  "has  shown  at  least 
two  eminent  faculties  in  his  histories,  —  the  faculty 
of  seeing  wholes,  and  the"  faculty  of  seeing  and  saying 
particularss  The  one  makes  history  valuable ;  the  other 
makes  it  readable,  interesting."  He  also  said  that  "  the 
language,  the  style  of  his  books,  draws  very  much  of 
its  excellence  from  the  habit  of  giving  the  very  lan 
guage  of  the  times."  During  this  month  he  set  out  for 
Europe  with  his  daughter.  He  went  to  Egypt,  and, 
returning,  spent  several  weeks  in  Paris.  In  England 
he  was  cordially  received  by  his  friends.  He  spent  a 
month  in  London,  then  visited  Oxford,  and  made  trips 
into  Wales  and  Scotland.  At  Oxford  he  was  invited 
to  deliver  a  course  of  lectures,  at  the  suggestion  of 
Max  Miiller,  but  did  not  do  so.  He  spoke  at  Thomas 
Hughes's  Workingmen's  College  in  London.  He  made 
a  visit  to  Lord  Amberley,  and  he  found  new  delight  in 
his  friendship  for  Carlyle.  His  old  friends  were  not 
forgotten,  and  his  visit  was  made  by  them  a  festival. 
"  I  know  jio  American,  indeed  there  can  be  no  oth 
er,"  wrote" one  of  riis  admirers  at  this  time,  "who  has 
in  England  a  company  of  such  friends  and  disciples  as 
those  who  gather  about  Mr.  Emerson ;  no  one  for 


176  RALPH   WALDO   EMEKSOX. 

whom  so  many  rare  men  and  women  have  a  reverence 
so  affectionate ;  no  one  who  holds  to  the  best  section  of 
English  students,  arid  of  her  most  religious  and  culti 
vated  minds,  a  relation  so  delightful  to  both.  The 
incomparable  charm  of  his  manner  and  of  his  conversa 
tion  remains  what  it  always  was,  and  marked  always 
by  the  same  sweetness,  the  same  delicacy,  mingled  with 
the  same  penetration  and  force."1  This  interest  was 
shown  in  the  organization  in  England,  in  1869,  of  an 
association  devoted  to  the  publication  and  diffusion  of 
the  works  of  Carlyle  and  Emerson.  Its  kindred  objects 
were  the  diffusion  of  education,  relief  of  pauperism, 
elevation  of  woman,  securing  of  international  peace, 
the  broadening  of  the  national  church  to  include  all 
thinkers,  and  the  diffusion  of  art  and  culture. 

During  his  absence  his  house  was  rebuilt  in  exactly 
the  old  form.  On  his  return,  in  May,  1873,  he  was 
received  with  music  and  a  procession  by  his  neighbors, 
who  most  cordially  welcomed  him  home.  This  recep 
tion  was  as  surprising  to  him  as  it  was  gratifying. 
The  fine  new  Free-Library  building  in  Concord,  built 
by  William  Munroe,  a  citizen  of  the  town,  was  dedi 
cated  Oct.  1 ;  and  Emerson  delivered  the  address.  He 
gave  an  interesting  account  of  the  value  and  uses  of 
books  and  libraries. 

"  I  think  it  not  easy,  he  said,  to  exaggerate  the  utility  of  the 
beneficence  which  takes  this  form.  If  you  consider  what  has 
befallen  you  when  reading  a  poem,  or  a  history,  or  a  tragedy,  or  a 
novel  even,  that  deeply  interested  you,  —  how  you  forgot  the  time 
of  day,  the  persons  sitting  in  the  room,  and  the  engagements  for  the 
evening,  —  you  will  easily  admit  the  wonderful  property  of  books 
to  make  all  towns  equal;  that  Concord  library  makes  Concord  as 
good  as  Rome,  Paris,  or  London,  for  the  hour,  —  has  the  best  of 
each  of  those  cities  in  itself.  Robinson  Crusoe,  could  he  have  had 
a  shelf  of  our  books,  could  almost  have  done  without  his  man 
Friday,  or  even  the  arriving  ship. 

"  The  chairman  of  Mr.  Munroe's  trustees  has  told  you  how  old 
is  the  foundation  of  our  village  library ;  and  we  think  we  can  trace 
in  pur  modest  records  a  correspondent  effect  of  culture  amidst  our 
citizens.  A  deep  religious  sentiment  is  in  all  times  an  inspirer  of 
the  intellect,  and  that  was  not  wanting  here.  The  town  was  set- 

1  George  W.  Sraally,  in  The  New  York  Tribune. 


THE   VOICE   AT    EVE.  17  7 

tied  by  a  pious  company  of  nonconformists  from  England;  and 
the  printed  books  of  their  pastor  and  leader,  Rev.  Peter  Bulkeley, 
testify  the  ardent  sentiment  which  they  shared.  The  religious 
bias  of  our  founders  had  its  usual  effect,  —  to  secure  an  education  to 
read  their  Bible  and  hymn-book ;  and  thence  the  step  was  easy  for 
active  minds  to  an  acquaintance  with  history  and  with  poetry. 
Peter  Bulkeley  sent  his  son  John  to  the  first  class  that  gTaduated  in 
Harvard  College,  in  1642,  and  two  sons  to  later  classes.  Major 
Simon  Willard's  son  Samuel  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1650,  and 
was  for  six  years,  from  1701  to  1707,  vice-president  of  the  col 
lege  ;  and  his  son  Joseph  was  president  of  the  college  from  1781 
to  1804 ;  and  Concord  counted  fourteen  graduates  of  Harvard  in 
its  first  century,  and  its  representation  there  increased  with  its 
gross  population." 

After  speaking  of  Thoreau  and  Hawthorne,  and  their 
interest  in  boo.ks,  he  passes  on  to  say,  — 

"  Literature  is  the  record  of  the  best  thoughts.  Every  attain 
ment  and  discipline  which  increases  a  man's  acquaintance  with  the 
invisible  world,  lifts  his  being.  Every  thing  that  gives  him  a  new 
perception  of  beauty,  multiplies  his  pure  enjoyments.  A  river  of 
thought  is  always  miming  out  of  the  invisible  world  into  the 
mind  of  man.  Shall  not  they  who  received  the  largest  streams 
spread  abroad  the  healing  waters  ? 

"  Homer  and  Plato  and  Pindar  and  Shakspere  serve  many 
more  than  have  heard  their  names.  Thought  is  the  most  volatile 
of  all  things.  It  can  not  be  contained  in  any  cup,  though  you  shut 
the  lid  never  so  tight.  Once  brought  into  the  world,  it  runs  over 
the  vessel  which  received  it  into  all  minds  that  love  it.  The  very 
language  we  speak  thinks  for  us  by  the  subtle  distinctions  which 
already  are  marked  for  us  by  its  words,  and  every  one  of  them  is 
the  contribution  of  the  wit  of  one  and  another  sagacious  man  in 
all  the  centuries  of  time.  Consider  that  it  is  our  own  state  of 
mind  at  any  time  that  makes  our  estimate  of  life  and  the  world. 
If  you  sprain  your  foot,  you  wTill  presently  come  to  think  that 
Xature  has  sprained  hers.  Every  thing  begins  to  look  so  slow  and 
inaccessible.  And  when  you  sprain  your  mind,  by  gloomy  reflec 
tions  on  your  failures  and  vexations,  you  come  to  have  a  bad 
opinion  of  life.  Think  how  indigent  Mature  must  appear  to  the 
blind,  the  deaf,  and  the  idiot.  Now,  if  you  can  kindle  the  imagi 
nation  by  a  new  thought,  by  heroic  histories,  by  uplifting  poetry, 
instantly  you  expand,  —  are  cheered,  inspired,  and  become  wise, 
and  even  prophetic.  Music  works  this  miracle  for  those  who  have 
a  good  ear ;  what  omniscience  has  music  !  so  absolutely  imper 
sonal,  and  yet  every  sufferer  feels  his  secret  sorrow  reached.  Yet 
to  a  scholar  *khe  book  is  as  good  or  better.  There  is  no  hour  of 
vexation  which,  on  a  IKtle  reflection,  will  not  find  diversion  and 
relief  in  the  libra:  y.  Eir,  companions  arc  few ;  at  the  moment  he 


178  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

has  none ;  but,  year  by  year,  these  silent  friends  supply  their  place. 
Many  times  the  reading  of  a  book  has  made  the  fortune  of  the  man., 
—  has  decided  his  way  of  life.  It  makes  friends.  'Tis  the  tie 
between  men  to  have  been  delighted  with  the  same  book.  Every 
one  of  us  is  always  in  search  of  his  friend ;  and  when,  unexpectedly, 
he  finds  a  stranger  enjoying  the  rare  poet  or  thinker  who  is  dear  to 
his  own  solitude,  it  is  like  rinding  a  brother. 

"  In  books  I  have  the  history  or  the  energy  of  the  past.  Angels 
they  are  to  us  of  entertainment,  sympathy,  and  provocation.  With 
them  many  of  us  spend  the  most  of  our  life,  —  these  silent  guides, 
these  tractable  prophets,  historians,  and  singers,  whose  embalmed 
life  is  the  highest  feat  of  art ;  who  now  cast  their  moonlight 
illumination  over  -solitude,  weariness,  and  fallen  fortunes.  You 
say  'tis  a  languid  pleasure.  Yes;  but  its  tractableness,  coming 
and  going  like  a  dog  at  your  bidding,  compensate  the  quietness, 
and  contrast  with  the  slowness  of  fortune,  and  the  inaccessibleness 
of  persons.  You  meet  with  a  man  of  science,  a  good  thinker  or 
good  wit ;  but  you  do  not  know  how  to  draw  out  of  him  that  which 
he  knows.  But  the  book  is  a  sure  friend,  always  ready  at  your 
first  leisure,  opens  to  the  very  page  you  desire,  and  shuts  at  your 
first  fatigue,  as  possibly,  your  professor  might  not. 

"  It  is  a  tie  between  men  to  have  read  the  same  book ;  and  it  is  a 
disadvantage  not  to  have  read  the  book  your  mates  have  read,  or 
not  to  have  read  it  at  the  same  time,  so  that  it  may  take  the  place 
in  your  culture  it  does  in  theirs,  and  you  shall  understand  their 
allusions  to  it,  and  not  give  it  more  or  less  emphasis  than  they 
do.  Yet  the  strong  character  does  not  need  this  sameness  of  cul 
ture.  The  imagination  knows  its  own  food  in  every  pasture ;  and 
if  it  has  not  had  the  Arabian  Nights,  Prince  Lee  Boo,  or  Homer, 
or  Scott,  has  drawn  equal  delight  and  terror  from  haunts  and 
passages  which  you  will  hear  of  with  envy. 

"  In  saying  these  things  for  books,  I  do  not  for  a  moment  forget 
that  they  are  secondary,  mere  means,  and  only  used  in  the  off- 
hours,  only  in  the  pause,  and,  as  it  were,  the  sleep,  or  passive  state, 
of  the  mind.  The  intellect  reserves  all  its  rights.  Instantly,  when 
the  mind  itself  wakes,  all  books,  all  past  acts  are  forgotten,  hud 
dled  aside  as  impertinent  in  the  august  presence  of  the  creator. 
Their  costliest  benefit  is  that  they  set  us  free  from  ourselves ;  for 
they  wake  the  imagination  and  the  sentiment,  and  in  their  inspira 
tions  we  dispense  with  books.  Let  rne  add,  then,  read  proudly,  — 
put  the  duty  of  being  read  invariably  on  the  author.  If  he  is  not 
read,  whose  fault  is  it?  I  am  quite  ready  to  be  charmed,  but  I 
shall  not  make  believe  I  am  charmed." 

He  read  a  poem  in  Faneuil  Hall  Dec.  16,  on  the  cen 
tennial  anniversary  of  the  destruction  of  tea  in  Boston 
Harbor,  which  has  since  been  published  in  his  /Select 
Poems.  On  the  last  day  of  the  year  he  read  this  poem 


THE    VOICE   AT   EVE.  179 

again,  this  time  before  the  Radical  Club,  at  Mrs.  Sar 
gent's.  At  this  meeting  a  reception  was  given  him; 
Whittier,  Longfellow,  Hedge,  Phillips,  Wilson,  Henry 
James,  and  many  others  being  present.  Charles  Brad- 
laugh  was  also  a  guest  of  the  club,  and  in  a  feeling 
manner  expressed  his  debt  to  Emerson,  by  saying,  "1 
ascribe  to  Mr.  Emerson's  essay  on  Self-Reliance  my  first 
step  in  the  career  I  have  adopted.  Twenty-six  years 
ago,  when  too  poor  to  buy  a  book,  I  copied  parts  of  that 
famous  lecture."  In  writing  to  an  English  journal,  he 
described  Emerson's  manner  as  "so  gentle  that  he 
seemed  only  reading  to  one  person,  and  yet  his  voice 
was  so  distinct  that  it  filled  the  room  in  its  lowest 
tones."  l 

In  1874  Emerson  was  put  in  nomination  by  the  inde 
pendent  party  among  the  students  of  Glasgow  Univer 
sity,  for  the  office  of  Lord-Rector.  The  other  candi 
dates  were  Disraeli  and  Forster.  The  usual  exciting 
canvass  preceded  the  election.  Emerson  received  five 
hundred  votes  against  seven  hundred  for  Disraeli,  who 
was  elected.  To  the  committee  of  the  Independent 
Club,  who  wrote  asking  permission  to  put  him  in  nomi 
nation,  he  sent  the  following  letter :  — 

"  CONCORD,  MASS.,  March  18,  1874. 

"  GENTLEMEN,  —  I  received  a  few  days  since  your  letter  of  the 
17th  of  February,  inviting  me  to  allow  my  name  to  be  proposed  as 
one  of  the  candidates  for  the  Lord-rectorship  of  the  University  of 
Glasgow.  I  confess  to  a  surprise  that  reached  almost  to  incredulity, 
which  the  careful  reading  of  your  letter  changed  into  a  respect  and 
gratitude  to  the  kind  and  noble  feeling  with  which  you,  and  the 
young  gentlemen  whom  you  represent,  have  honored  me.  Dr.  Stir 
ling's  letter,  which  came  to  me  with  yours,  added  its  confirmation 
and  the  friendliest  details  to  your  own. 

"  At  first  I  thought  the  proposition  so  novel,  and  so  unlikely  to  be 
sustained  by  the  whole  body  of  the  matriculated  students,  that  I 
must  not  think  of  it  as  other  than  a  kindest  compliment  of  a  few 
friends,  and  very  precious  to  me  as  such,  but  only  to  be  respectfully 
declined.  On  thinking  it  over,  I  find  it  is  for  you,  and  not  for  me, 
to  judge  of  the  probabilities  of  the  election  ;  and  that  you,  and  not 
I,  must  decide  whether  these  are  such  as  to  justify  you  in  actually 
proposing  my  name  to  the  electors.  If  you  persist,  you  are  at  lib- 

1  Sketches  and  Reminiscences  of  the  Radical  Club,  p.  293. 


180  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSOX. 

erty  to  propose  my  name ;  and,  if  elected,  I  shall  certainly  endeavor 
to  meet  your  wishes,  and  those  of  the  university,  as  to  the  time 
and  duties  which  the  ofiice  shall  require.  With  this  letter  I  shall 
send  to  Boston  my  affirmative  reply  by  the  ocean  telegraph,  as  re 
quested  by  Dr.  Stirling. 

"  Yours  with  very  kind  regards, 

"  R.  W.  EMERSON." 

There  could  have  been  no  greater  evidence  of  the 
esteem  in  which  he  is  held  in  England  than  this  nomi 
nation  and  the  very  large  vote  he  received.  No  other 
foreigner,  probably,  had  ever  received  the  nomination ; 
and  the  contest  showed  a  thorough  appreciation  of  his 
genius  on  the  part  of  his  friends  among  the  students. 
After  the  contest  was  over,  he  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  the  honorary  president  of  the  Independent 
Club :  — 

"  CONCORD,  5th  January,  1875. 

"My  DEAR  DR.  STIRLING,  —  I  esan  not  forgive  myself  for  my 
tardiness  in  telling  you  how  deeply  1  have  felt  your  interest  and 
care  in  my  behalf  at  Glasgow.  Yet  I  was  and  am  deeply  sensible 
of  your  heroic  generosity  in  the  care  of  my  interest  in  the  late  elec 
tion.  I  could  never,  from  the  first  to  the  last  act  in  the  aii'air,  bring 
myself  to  believe  that  the  brave  nomination  of  the  independents 
would  succeed,  and  could  hardly  trust  the  truth  of  the  telegrams, 
which  at  last  brought  me  so  dignified  a  result  as  five  hundred  votes 
in  our  behalf.  I  count  that  vote  as  quite  the  fairest  laurel  that  has 
ever  fallen  on  me ;  and  I  can  not  but  feel  deeply  grateful  to  my 
young  friends  in  the  university,  and  to  yourself,  who  have  been 
their  counselor  and  my  too  partial  advocate.  Of  course  such  an 
approach  to  success  gave  me  lively  thoughts  of  what  could  have 
been  attempted  and  at  least  approached  in  meeting  and  dealing 
with  the  university,  if  my  friends  had  succeeded ;  but  I  hope  the 
stimulus  they  have  given  me  will  not  be  wholly  lost.  Probably  I 
have  never  seen  one  of  these  five  hundred  young  men ;  and  thus 
they  show  us  that  our  recorded  thoughts  give  the  means  of  reaching 
those  who  think  with  us  in  other  countries,  and  make  closer  alli 
ances  sometimes  than  life-long  neighborhood.  To  be  sure,  the  truth 
is  hackneyed,  but  it  never  came  to  me  in  so  palpable  a  form.  It  is 
easy  to  me  to  gather  from  your  letters,  and  from  those  of  Mr.  Herk- 
less,  and  from  the  printed  papers,  Jiow  generously  you  have  espoused 
and  aided  my  champions  ;  and  it  only  adds  one  more  to  the  many 
deep  debts  which  I  owe  to  you.  I  never  lose  the  hope  that  you  will 
come  to  us  at  no  distant  day,  and  be  our  king  in  philosophy. 
"  With  affectionate  regards, 

"  R.  WALDO  EMERSON." 
"MR.  J.  HUTCHISON  STIRLING,  LL  D." 


THE    VOICE   AT    EVE.  181 

In  1874  he  published  a  collection  of  his  favorite 
poems,  under  the  title  of  Parnassus.  It  was  the  result 
of  his  habit,  pursued  for  many  years,  of  copying  into  his 
commonplace  book  any  poem  which  specially  pleased 
him.  Many  of  these  favorites  had  been  read  to  illus 
trate  his  lectures  on  the  English  poets.  The  book  has 
no  worthless  selections,  almost  every  thing  it  contains 
bearing  the  stamp  of  genius  and  worth.  Yet  Emer 
son's  personality  is  seen  in  its  many  intellectual  and 
serious  poems,  and  in  the  small  number  of  its  purely 
religious  selections.  With  two  or  three  exceptions  he 
copies  none  of  those  devotional  poems  which  have 
attracted  devout  souls.  He  makes  three  selections 
from  Jones  Very,  but  gives  none  of  the  exquisite  reli 
gious  pieces  of  that  little-known  poet.  He  gives  no  one 
of  the  poems  in  which  is  embodied  the  religious  spirit 
of  transcendentalism,  as  it  has  been  expressed  by 
Samuel  Longfellow,  Samuel  Johnson,  and  others.  His 
poetical  sympathies  are  shown  in  the  fact  that  one-third 
of  the  selections  are  from  the  seventeenth  century. 
Shakspere  is  drawn  on  more  largely  than  any  other, 
no  less  than  eighty-eight  selections  being  made  from 
him.  The  names  of  George  Herbert,  Herrick,  Ben 
Jonson,  and  Milton  frequently  appear.  Wordsworth 
appears  forty-three  times,  and  stands  next  to  Shak 
spere  ;  while  Burns,  Byron,  Scott,  Tennyson,  and 
Chaucer  make  up  the  liot  of  favorites.  Man}7  little- 
known  pieces  are  included,  and  some  whose  merit  is 
other  than  poetical.  W.  E.  Chaining,  Thoreau,  and 
Sanborn  are  drawn  upon  as  often  as  Longfellow, 
Holmes,  or  Lowell.  Many  pieces  seem  to  be  included 
for  their  historic  or  personal  interest,  and  some  because 
they  describe  persons,  scenes,  or  human  passions. 
Burns,  Bret  Harte,  and  Holmes  are  the  favorites  among 
humorous  poets.  Shakspere  and  Byron  furnish  nearly 
all  the  selections  under  the  head  of  "  Poetry  of  Terror ; " 
while  Shakspere  and  other  Elizabethan  poets  give  him, 
with  a  few  exceptions,  those  in  the  section  of  "  Oracles 
and  Counsels."  There  is  a  fine  collection  of  songs, 
marked  by  their  intellectual  and  moral  qualities,  and 


182  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

as  being  of  the  highest  poetic  merit.  The  section  of 
moral  and  religious  poems  is  nearly  one-half  of  it  taken 
from  the  Elizabethan  poets,  showing  how  strong  is 
Emerson's  affinity  for  the  thought  of  that  period.  Even 
here  Shakspere  retains  the  priority,  but  Wordsworth 
only  falls  behind  him  by  one  selection.  The  large 
number  of  heroic,  narrative,  and  ballad  poems  given, 
as  well  as  those  containing  personal  portraits,  show  the 
depth  of  Emerson's  human  interest.  This  selection  of 
poems  is  eminently  that  of  a  poet  of  keen  intellectual 
tastes.  It  is  not  popular  in  character,  omitting  many 
public  favorites,  and  introducing  very  much  which  can 
never  be  acceptable  to  the  general  reader.  The  preface 
is  full  of  interest  for  its  comments  on  many  of  the 
poems  and  poets  appearing  in  these  selections. 

The  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  Concord  fight  was 
observed  on  the  19th  of  April,  1875.  On  that  day  the 
"  Minute  Man  "  of  young  French  was  unveiled.  This 
fine  piece  of  work  was  erected  on  the  west  shore  of  the 
Concord  River,  at  the  place  where  the  militia  stood 
when  they 

"  Fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world." 

The  first  monument  was  erected  where  the  British 
soldiers  stood.  In  the  brief  address  which  Emerson 
gave  on  this  occasion  he  tells  the  story  of  the  Concord 
farmer  who  first  suggested  the  new  monument.  His 
whole  address  was  in  these  words :  — 

"  Ebenezer  Hubbard,  a  farmer  who  inherited  the  land  in  the  vil 
lage  in  which  troops  committed  depredations,  and  who  had  a  deep 
interest  in  the  history  of  the  raid,  erected  many  years  ago  a  flag 
staff  on  his  land,  and  never  neglected  to  hoist  the  stars  and  stripes 
on  the  19th  of  April  and  the  4th  of  July.  It  grieved  him  deeply 
that  yonder  monument,  erected  by  the  town  in  1836,  should  be 
built  on  the  ground  on  which  the  enemy  stood,  instead  of  that 
which  the  Americans  occupied  in  the  Concord  fight  'n  and  he 
bequeathed  in  his  will  a  sum  of  money  to  the  town  of  Concord, 
on  condition  that  a  monument  should  be  built  on  the  identical 
spot  occupied  by  our  minute-men  and  militia  on  that  day ;  and 
another  sum  of  money,  on  the  condition  that  the  town  should  build 
a  foot-bridge  across  the  river,  where  the  old  bridge  stood  in  1775. 
The  town  accepted  the  legacy,  built  the  bridge,  and  employed 


THE   VOICE    AT   EVE.  183 

Daniel  French  to  prepare  a  statue  to  be  erected  on  the  specified 
spot.  Meanwhile  Congress,  at  Washington,  gave  to  the  town 
bronze  cannons,  to  furnish  the  artist  with  materials  to  complete  his 
•work.  His  statue  is  before  you ;  it  was  approved  by  the  town, 
and  to-day  it  speaks  for  itself.  The  sculptor  has  rightly  conceived 
the  proper  emblems  of  the  patriot  farmer,  who  at  the  morning 
alarm  left  the  plow  to  grasp  his  gun.  He  has  built  no  dome 
over  his  work,  believing  that  the  blue  sky  makes  the  best  back 
ground.  The  statue  is  the  first  serious  work  of  our  young  towns 
man,  who  is  now  in  Italy  to  pursue  his  profession. 

"  We  had  many  enemies  arid  many  friends  in  England,  but  oui 
one  benefactor  was  King  George  the  Third.  The  time  had  arrived 
for  the  political  severance  of  America,  that  it  might  play  its  part 
in  the  history  of  this  globe  ;  and  the  way  of  Divine  Providence  to 
do  it  was  to  give  an  insane  king  to  England.  In  the  resistance  of 
the  colonies  he  alone  was  immovable  on  the  question  of  force.  Eng 
land  was  so  dear  to  us,  that  the  colonies  could  only  be  absolutely 
united  by  violence  from  England  ;  and  only  one  irian  could  compel 
resort  to  violence.  The  king  became  insane ;  parliament  wavered  ; 
all  the  ministers  wavered ;  Lord  North  wavered  ;  but  the  king  had 
the  insanity  of  one  idea.  He  was  immovable ;  he  insisted  on  the 
impossible ;  so  the  army  was  sent.  America  was  instantly  united, 
and  the  nation  born.  On  the  19th  of  April,  eight  hundred  soldiers, 
with  hostile  intent,  were  sent  hither  from  Boston.  Nature  itself 
put  on  a  new  face  on  that  day.  You  see  the  nude  fields  of  this 
morning ;  but  on  the  same  day  of  the  year  1775  a  rare  forwardness 
of  spring  is  recorded.  It  appears  the  patriotism  of  the  people  was 
so  hot  that  it  melted  the  snow,  and  the  rye  waved  on  the  19th  of 
April. 

"  In  all  noble  actions  we  say  'tis  only  the  first  step  that  costs. 
Who  would  carry  out  the  rule  of  right  must  take  his  life  in  his  hand. 
We  have  no  need  to  magnify  the  facts.  Only  three  of  our  men 
were  killed  at  this  bridge,  and  a  few  others  were  wounded  ;  but 
here  the  British  army  was  first  fronted  and  driven  back ;  and  if 
only  three  men,  or  only  one  man  was  slain,  it  was  the  first  victory. 
The  thunderbolt  falls  on  an  inch  of  ground,  but  the  light  of  it  fills 
the  horizon.  The  British  instantly  retreated.  We  had  no  electric 
telegraph ;  but  the  news  of  this  triumph  over  the  king's  troops  sped 
through  the  country  to  New  York,  to  Philadelphia,  to  Kentucky,  to 
the  Carolinas,  with  speed  unknown  before,  and  ripened  the  colonies 
to  inevitable  decision. 

"  This  sharp  beginning  of  real  war  was  followed  sixty  days 
later  by  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  then  by  Gen.  Washington's 
arrival  in  Cambridge,  arid  his  redoubts  on  Dorchester  Heights.  In 
one  year  and  twelve  days  from  the  death  of  Isaac  Davis  and  Abner 
Ilosmer,  one  hundred  and  twenty  vessels,  loaded  with  Gen.  Howe 
and  his  army,  eight  thousand  men,  and  all  their  effects,  sailed  out 
of  Boston  1 1  arbor,  never  to  return.  'Tis  a  proud  and  tender  story. 
I  chullci  i<';<>  jiny  lover  of  Massachusetts  to  read  the  sixteenth  chapter 
oi'  Bancroft's  history  without  tears  of  joy.'' 


184  RALPH   WALDO    EMEU  SOX. 

His  Letters  and  Social  Aims  was  published  in  1875. 
It  contains  the  essay  on  The  Comic,  which  appeared 
in  The  Dial,  and  a  paper  on  Persian  Poetry,  from 
The  Atlantic' Monthly.  Its  first  essay  is  a  long  and 
carefully  elaborated  presentation  of  his  theory  of 
poetry,  and  is  his  only  piece  of  writing  since  Nature 
which  did  not  assume  the  lecture-form.  His  theory 
that  the  poet  is  the  true  interpreter  of  nature  and  life 
is  presented,  while  the  doctrine  of  identity  again 
becomes  the  basis  of  his  thought.  Nature  and  mind 
exactly  correspond  with  each  other,  so  that  nature  is  a 
perfect  symbol  of  spirit;  and  the  poet,  through  his 
imagination  and  intuition,  acts  as  the  interpreter  of  this 
correspondence,  —  this  is  the  point  of  view  of  the  essay. 
The  essays  in  this  volume  are  simpler  in  style  and 
thought  than  some  of  his  earlier  ones,  because  he  is 
dealing  with  the  affairs  of  daily  life.  In  a  few  of  them, 
however,  he  reaches  the  highest  mark  of  his  power  as 
a  writer.  This  is  the  case  in  the  address  on  the  Prog 
ress  of  Culture,  and  it  is  also  true  of  the  essay  on 
Immortality.  Nearly  all  the  other  essays  had  been 
given  as  lectures  in  Boston,  between  1860  and  1870. 
Tins  volume  was  received  with  a  more  general  approval 
and  with  more  of  praise  by  the  critics  than  any  of  his 
previous  books.  A  few  of  them,  however,  persisted  in 
misjudging  as  much  as  ever,  as  in  the  case  of  The 
Athenaeum,  which  said,  — 

"  In  his  latest  production  Mr.  Emerson  is  as  crabbed  as  enter 
taining,  and  as  '  cock-sure '  as  when  he  first  startled  the  Phi  Beta 
1  Cuppa  Society  with  his  parodoxes  on  the  relations  of  man  to  the 
universe.  One  advantage,  however,  he  still  possesses  over  most  of 
the  /weWo-philosophers  at  whose  head  he  stands.  He  is  slow  in 
utterance  and  patient  in  labor.  His  method  of  work  is  that  of 
great  thinkers.  Gradually  he  absorbs  and  assimilates  whatever 
s<  i-;jce  or  history  can  furnish,  and  slowly  and  reflectively  ho  gives 
us  the  result  of  his  thoughts.  So  patiently  does  he  brood  OV.T  his 
eggs,  iliat  if  they  are  sometimes  addled  the  fault  is  scarcely  his. 
Already,  however,  his  influence  is  on  the  wane.  He  wants  that 
last  and  most  useful  gift  of  genius,  the  power  to  keep  young  in 
soul,  and  to  advance  with  advancing  years."  * 

1  Athemeuin,  Jan.  15,  1876.  Perhaps  the  worst,  instance  of  misrepre 
sentation  was  shown  in  tho  Catholic  World  for  April,  loTS,  whero  Emer- 


THE    VOICE   AT   EVE.  18o 

A  collection  of  his  Select  Poems  appeared  in  187G, 
containing  the  best  of  the  poems  in  the  two  previcus 
volumes.  It  also  embraced  two  or  three  hitherto 
unpublished.  From  this  time  on  his  lectures  became 
less  frequent,  but  for  that  reason  all  the  more  notable 
to  those  who  had  listened  to  him  for  many  years.  He 
read  one  of  the  best  of  his  moral  and  political  essays 
to  a  brilliant  audience  in  the  Old  South  Church,  during 
the  year  1872.  It  was  The  Fortune  of  the  Republic, 
and  was  immediately  put  into,  a  volume.  The  same 
year  he  spoke  in  the  same  place  on  The  Superlative. 
In  1879  he  gave  a  lecture  on  Memory  before  the  Con 
cord  School  of  Philosophy,  a  lecture  in  Cambridge  on 
Eloquence,  and  one  before  the  Harvard  Divinity  School 
on  The  Preacher.  In  1880  he  gave  his  hundredth  lec 
ture  before  the  Concord  Lyceum,  on  New-England  Life 
and  Letters;  while  before  the  School  of  Philosophy  his 
subject  was  Natural  Aristocracy.  In  the  autumn  he 
read  an  essay  before  the  members  of  the  Divinity 
School,  and  early  in  1881  he  gave  a  paper  on  Carlyle 
before  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society. 

During  these  years  there  has  been  a  constantly 
increasing  interest  in  Emerson's  books,  and  a  deeper 
appreciation  of  his  influence.  This  is  shown  by  the 
eagerness  there  has  been,  to  hear  him,  by  the  discussion 
of  his  religious  attitude,  and  hy  the  testimonies  to  his 
influence  from  those  affected  by  his  thought.  Alger 
has  called  him  an  acute  observer  and  a  fearless  thinker ; 
while,  "  by  his  audacious  and  sensitive  genius,  he  is  a 
contemporary  of  the  primal  minds  of  all  ages."  ]  It  is 
this  fearless  vigor  and  depth  of  his  thought  which  has 

son  is  said  to  borrow  all  his  good  things  from  Montaigne,  and  to  be  a  mere 
imitator  of  Swedenborg.  We  are  told  "  it  is  about  time  to  expose  this 
wily  old  philosopher  who  has  been  throwing  rhetorical  dust  into  the 
eyes  of  several  generations."  Another  instance  of  petty  criticism  is  to 
be  found  in  Hain  Friswell's  Modern  Men  of  Letters, 'where  he  says, 
"  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  honest  work  in  Emerson's  books,  but 
there  is  also  a  good  deal  of  gilt  gingerbread  and  flash  jewelry."  He  is 
said  to  corrupt  the  youth  of"  our  time,  and  that  he  has  done  ins  besc  to 
rill  them  wiek  "an  unutterable  longing,"  "  with  a  wide,  windy,  and  dis 
persed  ambition,"  and  with  "  a  curious  pantheistic  reverence  lor  some 
thing—  what  it  is,  it  is  not  known." 
1  Christian  Examiner,  May,  1868. 


186  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

attracted  to  him  some  of  the  acutest  minds  among  his 
contemporaries.  At  a  meeting  of  the  Radical  Club,  in 
1873,  TyndaU  said,  "  The  first  time  I  ever  knew  Waldo 
Emerson  was  when,  years  ago,  I  picked  up  on  a  stall  a 
copy  of  his  Nature.  I  read  it  with  such  delight,  and  I 
have  never  ceased  to  read  it;  and  if  any  one  can  be 
said  to  have  given  the  impulse  to  my  mind,  it  is  Emer 
son.  Whatever  I  have  done,  the  world  owes  to  him."  l 
Equally  ardent  has  been  Carlyle's  praise  of  his  friend. 
He  early  said,  "  I  hear  but  one  voice,  and  that  comes 
from  Concord."  Later  he  said  that  Emerson  was  "  the 
cleanest  mind  now  living,"  and  that  he  had  not  his 
equal  on  earth  for  perception.  In  1866  Carlyle  said, 
"  Now  and  then  a  letter  comes  from  him,  and  amid  all 
the  smoke  and  mist  of  this  world  it  is  always*as  a 
window  flung  open  to  the  azure.  During  all  this  last 
weary  work  of  mine,  his  words  have  been  nearly  the 
only  ones  about  the  thing  done  to  which  I  have 
inwardly  responded."  2  Another  Englishman,  a  worker 
in  the  fields  of  humanitarian  reform,  George  Jacob 
Holyoake,  visited  him  in  1880,  and  has  written  out  his 
impressions  in  these  words  :  — 

"  Though  tall,  Mr.  Emerson  is  still  erect,  and  has  the  bright  eye 
and  calm  grace  of  manner  we  knew  when  he  was  in  England  long 
years  ago.^  In  European  eyes,  his  position  among  men  of  letters  in 
America  is  as  that  of  Carlyle  among  English  writers;  with  the 
added  quality,  as  I  think,  of  greater  braveness  of  thought  and 
clearness  of  sympathy.  The  impression  among  many  to  whom  I 
spoke  in  America,  I  found  to  be,  that,  while  Caiiyle  inspires  you  to 
do  something  not  clearly  denned,  when  you  have  read  Emerson  you 
know  what  you  have  to  do.  However,  Mr.  Emerson  would  admit 
nothing  that  would  challenge  the  complete!  merits  of  his  illustrious 
friend  at  Chelsea.  He  showed  me  the  later  and  earlier  portraits  of 
Carlyle,  which  he  most  cherished ;  made  affectionate  inquiries  con 
cerning  him  personally,  and  as  to  whether  I  knew  of  any  thing  that 
1  ad  proceeded  from  his  pen  which  he  had  not  in  his  library. 

"  Friends  had  told  me  that  age  seemed  now  a  little  to  impair  Mr. 
Emerson's  memory,  but  I  found  his  recollection  of  England  accu 
rate  and  full  of  detail.  A  fine  portrait  of  him,  which  Mr.  Wen 
dell  Phillips  presented  to  me,  has  been  generally  thought  by  those 
who  have  not  seen  Emerson  to  be  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Gladstone, 

1  Kerainiscences  of  the  Radical  Club,  p.  300. 

2  Harper's  Monthly,  May,  1881,  p.  899. 


THE   VOICE   AT   EVE.  187 

whom  he  certainly  very  much  resembles  now.  Englishmen  told  me 
with  pride,  that  in  the  dark  days  of  the  war,  when  American  audi 
ences  were  indignant  at  England,  Emerson  would  put,  in  his  lec 
tures,  some  generous  passage  concerning  this  country,  and,  raising 
himself  erect,  pronounce  it  in  a  defiant  tone,  as  though  he  threw 
the  words  at  his  audience.  More  than  any  other  writer,  Emerson 
gives  me  the  impression  of  one  who  sees  facts  alive  and  knows  their 
ways,  and  who  writes  nothing  that  is  mean  or  poor."1 

While  such  men  as  Bradlaugli,  Holyoake,  and  Tyn- 
dall  have  been  attracted  to  Emerson  by  his  sturdy  advo 
cacy  of  self-reliance,  or  because  of  his  eloquent  interpre 
tations  of  nature,  others  have  been  drawn  to  him  because 
of  the  spirituality  of  his  thought,  and  for  his  hopeful 
outlook  upon  life.  If  Bradlaugli  has  found  in  his  essays 
stimulus  to  his  radicalism,  even  more  legitimately  have 
they  influenced  the  sermons  of  Stopford  Brooke  and 
Heber  Newton.  An  English  writer,  who  has  accepted 
and  defends  Emerson's  religious  stand-point,2  has  this 
word  to  say  of  his  influence,  — 

"  There  is,  perhaps,  no  writer  of  the  nineteenth  century  who  will 
better  repay  a  careful  and  prolonged  perusal  than  Emerson.  He 
enjoys  the  rare  distinction  of  having  ascended  to  the  highest  point 
to  which  the  human  mind  can  climb,  —  to  the  point  where,  as  he 
says  of  Plato,  the  poles  of  thought  are  on  a  line  with  the  axis  on 
which  the  frame  of  things  revolves.  .  .  .  He  stations  himself  at  the 
point  where  the  ascending  lines  of  Law  pass  into  Unity.  Once 
attain  to  that  position,  and  every  sentence  becomes  luminous.  The 
connection  of  ideas  becomes  apparent ;  the  illustrations  are  seen  to 
be  pertinent  and  exact ;  and  the  subject  to  be  laid  open  on  all  sides 
by  direct  and  penetrating  insight.  We  can  then  turn  to  him,  with 
the  same  delight,  for  the  philosophical  expression  of  the  deep  laws 
of  human  life,  as  we  do  to  Shakspere  for  their  dramatic  representa 
tion.  For  he  is  one  of  the  profoundest  of  thinkers,  and  has  that 
universality,  serenity,  and  cosmopolitan  breadth  of  comprehension, 
that  place  him  among  the  great  of  all  ages.  He  has  swallowed  all 
his  predecessors,  and  converted  them  into  nutriment  for  himself. 
He  is  as  subtle  and  delicate,  too,  as  he  is  .broad  and  massive,  and 
possesses  a  practical  wisdom  and  keenness  of  observation  that  hold 
his  feet  fast  to  the  solid  earth  when  his  head  is  striking  the  stars. 
His  scientific  accuracy  and  freedom  of  speculation  mark  him  out 
as  one  of  ttie  representative  men  of  the  nineteenth  century." 

1  Co-operative  News  of  Manchester. 

2  The  Religion  of  the  Future,  John  Beattie  Crozier,  p.  107. 


188  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

Herman   Grimm   has  borne  testimony  to   Emerson's 
literary  power,  in  his  New  Essays.     When  he  first  saw 
one  of  Emerson's  books  lie  was  greatly  attracted  to  it, 
as  he  found  that  some  of  its  sentences  were  full  of  new 
and  vigorous  thought.     He  found  there  a  sense  of  ijoy 
and  beauty  such  as  is  given  by  the  greatest  books./  In 
reading  him,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  met  the  simple  strand 
most  genuine  person,  \and  as  if  he  were  listening  to  that 
person's  conversation. \    He  found  himself  made  captive! 
by  thoughts  which  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  learning  for 
the  first  time.     "  lie  has  his  faults  and  his  doubtful  vir 
tues,  and  is  very  likely  capricious  and  capable  of  flattery. 
Yet  when  I  again  read   his   sentences,  the  enchanting 
breezes  of  hc.pe  and  spiritual  joy  filled  my  soul  anew. 
The  old  worn-out  machinery  of  the  world  was  re-created, 
and  I  felt  as  if  I  had  never  breathed  so  pure  an  atmos-  / 
phcre.     I  recently  heard  an  American,  who  had  been  | 
present  at  some  of  Emerson's  lectures,  say  that  nothing  I 
was  moref  captivating  than  to  listen  to  this  man.     I  be-  V 
lieve  it.  (  Nothing  will  surpass  the  voice  of  a  man  who   \ 
speaks  from  the  depths  of  his  soul  what  he  considers 
true.j     In  a  note  to  the  translator  of  his  Life  of  Goethe, 
Grimm  has  also  said,    "  I  can  indeed  say  that  no  author, 
with  whose  writings  I  have  lately  become  acquainted, 
has  had  such  an  influence  upon  me  as  Emerson.     The 
manner  of  writing  of  this  man,  whom  I  hold  to  be  the 
greatest  of  all  living  uuili:  rs,  has  revealed  to  me  a  new 
way  of  expressing  thought."     If  a  new  way  of  express 
ing  thought,  even  more  truly  has  he  given  a  new  way 
of  believing  and  living.     This  has  been  hinted  at  by 
Professor  C.  C.  Everett,  when  he  says, — 

"  We  think  of  no  writer  who  is  so  typically  American  as  he.  His 
Yankee  shrewdness  is  carried  into  the  most  profound  of  mystical 
utterances,  ylis  mind  is  always  sane.  Xever  unbalanced,  never 
running  to  extremes,  he  keeps  on  his  even  course.  If  he  unites 
with  his  practical  insight  the  intuitions  of  the  eastern  seer,  to  Yan 
kee  common  sense  the  transcendentalism  of  Germany,  to  the  homely 
wisdom  of  every-day  life  the  inspiration  of  genius,  these  opposing 
lines  never  conflict  with  one  another.  If  he  is  mystical,  ho  is  never 
misty.  The  reason  is,  that  he  is  so  much  at  home  in  regions  that 
to  many  seem  far  off  and  dim,  that,  with  no  change  in  modes  of 


THE    VOICE    AT    EVE.  189 

thought  and  expression,  he  can  describe  them  as  they  are.  He  can 
utter 'the  loftiest  truth  as  soon  as  the  humblest.  This  sanity  with 
which  tl^e  highest  themes  are  approached  by  him,  has  done  much 
to  make  them  seem  real  and  practical  to  many  who  would  other 
wise,  have  regarded  them  as  belonging  to  the  life  of  dreams." 

Emerson  has  never  quite  recovered  from  the  nervous 
shock  received  at  the  burning  of  his  house.  Yet  hh 
health  has  been  almost  uniformly  good,  though  suffer 
ing  sadly  from  the  loss  of  his  memory.  The  recent 
years  have  been  quietly  spent  in  the  midst  of  his 
friends,  and  in  the  preparation  of  his  remaining  manu 
scripts  for  future  publication.  Gossip  has  been  busy 
with  his  name,  making  him  much  feebler  than  he  ever 
has  been,  and  attributing  to  him  a  change  in  his  reli 
gious  convictions.  He  is  yet  vigorous,  however,  and 
retains  something  of  that  youthful  look  which  ^has 
always  characterized  him.  His  family  and  his  neigh 
bors  know  nothing  whatever  of  any  change  in  his  reli 
gious  ideas. 

He  has  truly  obeyed  the  voice  at  eve  obeyed  at 
prime,  and  swerved  not  from  his  trust  in  the  soul,  his 
confidence  in  the  progress  of  man,  or  his  reliance  on 
those  spiritual  truths  which  have  •  been  the  joy  of  all 
great  souls.  His  friends  have  drawn  closer  to  him  ^  as 
the  years  have  gone  on,  and  a  greater  number  with 
each  year  have  come  to  see  in  him  a  friend  to  be  trusted 
and  a  teacher  to  be  followed.  Those  who  once  criticised 
him  find  new  faith  in  him  as  a  poet,  thinker,  and  critic. 
What  O4ice  seemed  faults  are  forgotten  in  an  admiring 
recognition  of  his  genius.  The  voice  at  eve  is  the 
voice  o.f  a  pure  and  lofty  soul,  that  will  be  heard  more 
and  more  gladly  through  the  coming  years,  as  the  music 
of  his  rich  thought  floats  down  the  ages  that  are  to 
follow. 


190  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 


XIV. 

THE   MAN   AND   THE   LIFE. 

Tj^MERSON  is  eminently  domestic  in  his  tastes,  lov- 
J-^  ing  plain,  simple  things,  and  has  lived  in  the  most 
quiet,  modest  manner  possible.  His  essay  on  Domestic 
Life  indicates  the  high  esteem  in  which  he  holds  the 
home,  the  regard  he  has  for  children,  and  the  culture 
he  would  have  grow  out  of  the  home-life.  The  home, 
he  thinks,  should  be  for  plain  living  and  high  thinking; 
and  the  house  should  in  its  economy  bear  witness  that 
human  culture  is  the  end  to  which  it  is  built  and  gar 
nished.  Alcott  has  given  the  following  account  of  his 
domestic  tastes  and  habits  :  — 

"  All  men  love  the  country  who  love  mankind  with  a  wholesome 
love,  and  have  poetry  and  company  in  them.  Our  essayist  makes 
good  this  preference.  If  city  bred,  he  has  been  for  the  best  part  of 
his  life  a  villager  and  countryman.  Only  a  traveler  at  times  pro 
fessionally,  he  prefers  home-keeping ;  is  a  student  of  the  landscape, 
of  mankind,  of  rugged  strength  wherever  found ;  liking  plain  per 
sons,  plain  ways,  plain  clothes ;  prefers  earnest  people ;  shuns 
egotists,  publicity ;  likes  solitude,  and  knows  its  uses.  Courting 
society  as  a  spectacle  not  less  than  as  a  pleasure,  he  carries  off  the 
spoils.  Delighting  in  the  broadest  views  of  men  and  things,  he 
seeks  all  accessible  displays  of  both  for  draping  his  thoughts  and 
works."  l 

He  has  been  most  fortunate  in  all  his  domestic  rela 
tions  ; 2  while  tbe  surroundings  of  his  life  have  been  such 
as  he  could  desire,  and  they  have  been  helpful  to  the 
life  he  has  sought  to  live.  His  house  has  been  well 
adapted  to  a  scholar's  wants,  both  as  to  its  location  and 

1  In  his  little  book  on  Emerson,  partly  reprinted  in  Concord  Days. 

'2  Emerson  has  had  four  children,  two  sons'  and  two  daughters.  One 
son  died  early,  and  the  other  is  n,  much-respected  physician  in  Concord. 
The  older  daughter  is  unmarried,  and  is  the  main-stay  of  the  home. 
The  other  is  married. 


THE   MAN   AND   THE   LIFE.  191 

construction.  About  the  house  is  a  little  farm;  and  he 
owns  a  wood-lot  on  the  west  shore  of  Walden  Pond, 
where  Thoreau's  hut  once  stood.  His  home  has  been 
described  in  these  words :  — 

"  A  roomy  barn  stands  near  the  house,  and  behind  lies  a  little 
farm  of  nearly  a  dozen  acres.  The  whole  external  appearance  of 
the  place  suggests  old-fashioned  comfort  and  hospitality.  Within 
the  house  the  flavor  of  antiquity  is  still  more  noticeable.  Old  pic 
tures  look  down  from  the  walls ;  quaint  blue-and-white  china  holds 
the  simple  dinner ;  old  furniture  brings  to  mind  the  generations  of 
the  past.  Just  at  the  right,  as  you  enter,  is  Mr.  Emerson's  library, 
a  large,  square  room,  plainly  furnished,  but  made  pleasant  by  pictures 
and  sunshine.  '  The  homely  shelves  which  line  the  walls  are  well 
filled  with  books.  There  is  a  lack  of  showy  covers  or  rich  bind 
ings,  and  each  volume  seems  to  have  soberly  grown  old  in  constant 
service.  Mr.  Emerson's  study  is  a  quiet  room  up  stairs,  and  there 
each  day  he  is  steadily  at  work,  despite  advancing  years."  l 

When  Frederika  Bremer  called  one  day  at  his  house, 
she  did  not  find  him  at  home.  Going  into  his  library, 
she  thus  describes  it :  2  — 

"  I  went  for  a  moment  into  Emerson's  study,  —  a  large  room,  in 
which  every  thing  was  simple,  orderly,  unstudied,  comfortable. 
No  refined  feeling  of  beauty  has  converted  the  room  into  a  temple, 
in  which  stand  the  forms  of  the  heroes  of  science  and  literature. 
Ornament  is  banished  from  the  sanctuary  of  the  stoic  philosopher ; 
the  furniture  is  comfortable,  but  of  a  grave  character,  merely  as 
implements  of  usefulness ;  one  large  picture  only  is  in  the  room, 
but  this  hangs  there  with  a  commanding  power ;  it  is  a  large  oil- 
painting,  a  copy  of  Michael  Angelo's  glorious  Parcae,  the  goddess 
of  fate." 

She  says  there  stood  a  large  table  in  the  center  of 
the  room,  at  which  Emerson  wrote.  On  it  were  a  num 
ber  of  papers,  but  all  in  perfect  order.  Some  years  later 
M.  D.  Conway  called  on  Emerson,  and  describes  his 
visit,  giving  us  a  further  glimpse  of  his  study.3 

"  My  note  of  introduction  was  presented,  and  my  welcome  was 
cordial.  Emerson  was,  apparently,  yet  young ;  he  was  tall,  slender, 
of  light  complexion ;  his  step  was  elastic,  his  manner  easy  and  sim- 

1  Literary  World,  1877. 

2  The  Homes  of  the  New  World,  vol.  ii.  p.  562. 

3  Fraser's  Magazine,  August,  1864=. 


192  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

pie  ;  and  his  voice  at  once  relieved  me  of  the  trembling  with  which 
I  stood  before  him,  —  the  first  great  man  I  had  ever  seen.  He  pro 
posed  to  take  me  on  a  walk ;  and  whilst  he  was  preparing,  I  had 
the  opportunity  of  looking  about  the  library.  Over  the  mantel 
hung  an  excellent  copy  of  Michael  Angelo's  Parcse ;  on  it  there 
were  two  statuettes  of  Goethe,  of  whom  also  there  were  engraved 
copies  on  the  walls.  Afterwards  Emerson  showed  me  eight  or  ten 
portraits  of  Goethe  which  he  had  collected.  The  next  in  favor 
was  Dante,  of  whom  he  had  all  the  known  likenesses,  including 
various  photographs  of  the  mask  of  Dante,  made  at  Ravenna.  Be 
sides  portraits  of  Shakspere,  Montaigne,  and  Swedenborg,  I  re 
member  nothing  else  on  the  walls  of  the  library.  The  book-shelves 
were  well  filled  with  select  works ;  amongst  which  I  was  only  struck 
with  the  many.curious  Oriental  productions,  some  in"  Sanscrit.  He 
had,  too,  many  editions  in  Greek  and  English,  of  Plato,  which  had 
been  carefully  read  and  marked.  The  furniture  of  the  room  was 
antique  and  simple.  There  were,  on  one  side  of  the  room,  four  con 
siderable  shelves,  completely  occupied  by  his  MSS. ;  of  which  there 
were  enough,  one  might  suppose,  to  have  furnished  a  hundred  vol 
umes  instead  of  the  seven  which  he  has  given  to  the  world,  though 
under  perpetual  pressure  for  more  from  the  publishers  and  the 
public." 

Emerson's  house  is  of  the  old  New-England  sort, 
large,  and  hospitable  in  its  very  construction.  A  long 
hall  divides  it  through  the  middle.  By  the  side  of  the 
entry  stands  a  table,  over  which  is  a  picture  of  Diana. 
His  book-shelves  are  very  plain,  and  reach  to  the  ceiling. 
A  fireplace  fills  one  end  of  the  study,  and  has  high  brass 
andirons ;  while  on  the  antique  mantel  over  it  may  now 
.be  found,  among  other  articles,  a  small  idol  from  the 
Nile.  On  the  other  end  us  a  bronze  lamp  of  antique 
pattern,  such  as  is  often  pictured  to  represent  the  light 
of  science.  Back  of  this  room  is  the  large  parlor,  in 
which  visitors  are  received,  and  where  many  a  conversa 
tional  party  has  been  held. 

The  gate  always  remains  open.  The  path  from  the 
house  to  the  road  is  lined  with  tall  chestnut-trees. 
Back  of  the  house  is  ^a  garden  of  half  an  acre,  where 
bo tli  Emerson  and  his  wife  are  wont  to  labor.  She  is 
passionately  fond  of.  flowers,  and  grows  them  in  pro 
lusion.  Great  numbers  of  roses  are  in  bloom  here  in 
June,  while  there  is  a  bed  of  hollyhocks  of  many 
varieties.  A  small  brook  runs  across  his  land,  and 
pours  into  the  ri-ver. 


THE   MAN   AND    THE   LIFE.  193 

Emerson  has  a  pronounced  and  an  emphatic  face,  not 
at  all  remarkable  at  the  first  glance,  but  striking  for  its 
reserved  power  of  expression.  His  head  is  high  and 
well-formed,  his  nose  very  large,  his  chin  strong,  his 
eye  gentle  and  searching.  He  is  of  a  slender  figure, 
more  than  medium  height,  head  small,  and  shoulders 
remarkably  sloping.  "  His  manner,  though  dignified, 
is  very  retiring  and  singularly  refined  and  gentlemanly. 
His  face  has  a  thoughtful  and  somewhat  pre-occupied 
expression,  with  keen  eyes  and  aquiline  nose.  His 
countenance  lights  up  with  a  rare  appreciation  of 
humor,  of  which  he  has  the  keenest  sense  ;  but  his 
chief  characteristics  are  beneficence  and  courtesy, 
which  never  fail,  whether  addressing  the  humblest 
pauper  or  the  most  distinguished  scholar."  l  In  man 
ner  he  is  reticent,  in  general  conversation  he  is  not 
brilliant,  and  in  ordinary  intercourse  with  men  he 
does  not  appear  as  a  genius.  Yet  there  is  a  reserved 
personality,  that  is  commanding,  powerful,  and  charm 
ing.  It  is  a  personality  that  carries  immense  force, 
that  molds  and  sways  others,  less  by  a  dazzling  bril 
liancy  and  the  tremendousness  of  intellect,  than  by  the 
persuasive  might  of  a  pure,  unadulterated,  and  per 
fectly  loyal  nature,  which  never  swerves,  which  goes 
steadily  on  to  the  goal  it  seeks. 

Hawthorne  and  Miss  Bremer  used  in  their  diaries 
almost  the  same  expression  about  Emerson,  —  an  ex 
pression  showing  the  luminous  and  attracting  power 
of  his  nature.  In  speaking  of  those  who  called  on 
her  in  Boston,  Miss  Bremer  says,  "  Emerson  came 
also,  with  a  sunbeam  in  his  countenance."  This  was  in 
December,  1850.  In  April,  1843,  Hawthorne  made  this 
record  in  his  journal :  "  Mr.  Emerson  came,  with  a  sun 
beam  in  his  face ;  and  we  had  as  good  a  talk  as  I  ever 
remember  to  have  had  with  him."  Curtis  has  likewise 
spoken  of  the  "  smile  that  breaks  over  his  face  like  day 
over  the  sky ; "  and  once  said,  that  at  Emerson's  house 
it  seemed  always  morning.  This  sunbeam  in  his  face 
must  be  an  attractive  one  to  fascinate  three  such  people, 


1  Poets'  Homes. 


104  IiALPI-1   WALDO   EMERSOX. 

causing  them  to  notice  it  as  a  striking  characteristic. 
Miss  Bremer,  however,  could  not  understand  him ;  and 
she  persisted  in  thinking  him  not  just  right,  in  conse 
quence  of  his  religious  opinions ;  but  she  was  strongly 
attracted  to  him,  charmed  by  his  personality,  and  fasci 
nated  by  his  nobility  of  character.  After  being  four 
days  in  ^his  home,  she  writes,  "  I  enjoyed  the  contem 
plation  of  him,  in  his  demeanor,  his  expression,  his 
mode  of  talking,  and  his  e very-day  life,  as  I  enjoy  the 
calm  flow  of  a  river  bearing  along,  and  between  flowery 
shores,  large  and  small  vessels,  —  as  I  love  to  see  the 
eagle  circling  in  the  clouds,  resting  upon  them  and  its 
pinions.  In  this  calm  elevation  Emerson  allows  nothing 
to  reach  him,  neither  great  nor  small,  neither  prosperity 
nor  adversity."  Again  she  says,  u  Pantheistic  as  Emer 
son  is  in  his  philosophy,  in  the  moral  view  in  which  he 
regards  the  world  and  life  he  is  in  a  high  degree  pure, 
noble,  and  severe,  demanding  as  much  from  himself  as 
he  demands  from  others.  His  wcrds  are  severe,  his 
judgments  often  keen  and  merciless,  but  his  demeanor 
is  alike  noble  arid  pleasing,  and  his  voice  beautiful. 
One  may  quarrel  with  Emerson's  thoughts,  with  his 
judgment,  but  not  with  himself.  That  which  struck 
me  most,  as  distinguishing  him  from  most  other  human 
beings,  is  nobility.  He  is  a  born  gentleman."  As  the 
result  of  her  visit  to  him,  she  exclaims,  "  Lovable  he 
is  as  one  sees  him  in  his  home  and  amid  his'  domestic 
relations." 

"Every  thing  about  a  man  like  Emerson  is  important,  says 
John  Burroughs.1  I  find  his  phrenology  and  physiognomy  more 
than  ordinarily  typical  and  suggestive.  Look  at  his  picture 
there,  —  large,  strong  features  on  a  small  face  and  head,  — no 
blank  spaces ;  all  given  up  to  expression ;  a  high,  predaceous  nose, 
a  sinewy  brow,  a  massive,  benevolent  chin.  In  most  men  there  is 
more  face  than  feature ;  but  here  is  vast  deal  more  feature  than 
face,  and  a  corresponding  alertness  and  emphasis  of  character. 
Indeed,  the  man  is  made  after  this  fashion.  He  is  all  type;  his 
expression  is  transcendent.  His  mind  has  the  hand's  pronounced 
anatomy,  its  cords  and  sinews  and  multiform  articulations  ^  and 
processes,  its  opposing  and  co-ordinating  power.  If  his  brain  ia 

1  Birds  and  Poets,  p.  190. 


THE   MAN   AND   THE   LIFE.  195 

small,  its  texture  is  fine,  and  its  convolutions  deep.  There  have 
been  broader  and  more  catholic  natures,  but  few  so  towering  and 
audacious  in  expression,  and  so  rich  in  characteristic  traits.  Every 
scrap  and  shred  of  him  is  important  and  related.  Like  the  strongly 
aromatic  herbs  and  simples,  —  sage,  mint,  wintergreen,  sassafras,  — 
the  least  part  carries  the  flavor  of  the  whole.  Is  there  one  indif 
ferent  or  equivocal  or  unsympathizing  drop  of  blood  in  him? 
Where  he  is  at  all  he  is  entirely,  —  nothing  extemporaneous ;  his 
most  casual  word  seems  to  have  laid  in  pickle  for  a  Jong  time,  and 
is  saturated  through  and  through  with  the  Emersonian  brine. 
Indeed,  so  pungent  and  penetrating  is  this  quality,  that  his  quota 
tions  seem  more  than  half  his  own." 

If  the  range  of  his  mind  is  narrow,  it  is  with  that  nar 
rowness  characteristic  of  all  supremely  ethical  minds. 
Lowell  well  remarks  that  "  the  artistic  range  of  Emer 
son  is  narrow ;  and  so  is  that  of  JEschylus,  so  is  that 
of  Dante,  so  is  that  of  Montaigne,  so  is  that  of  Schiller, 
so  is  that  of  nearly  every  one  but  Shakspere ;  but  there 
is  a  gauge  of  height  no  less  than  of  breadth  ;  of  individ 
uality  as  well  as  of  comprehensiveness ;  and,  above  all, 
there  is  the  standard  of  genetic  power,  the  test  of  the 
masculine  as  distinguished  from  the  receptive  natures."1 
His  is  the  concentrated  mind  of  the  original  thinker, 
and  no  truly  original  mind  can  see  in  all  directions  with 
equal  clearness.  Yet  he  is  broad  in  his  sympathies, 
world-wide  in  his  love  of  truth  and  in  his  faith  in  man. 
His  is  a  masculine,  an  inquiring  nature.  He  is  a  men 
tal  pioneer ;  and  he  has  great  power  to  grasp  new  lead 
ings  of  thought,  to  comprehend  the  results  of  modern 
research  in  their  application  to  the  spiritual  nature. 
This  is  characteristically  shown  in  his  sacred  regard  for 
the  body,  in  his  giving  to  its  laws  ethical  sanctions,  and 
in  his  looking  upon  all  sickness  as  a  sin.  He  fore-reaches 
the  future  in  these,  as  in  so  many  other  opinions,  and 
becomes  a  prophet  of  that  higher  faith  the  world  is  yet 
to  attain.  It  has  been  said,  that  the  thing  he  most  hates 
is  sickness,  while  disease  he  regards  as  a  sin.  He  has 
himself  said  he  was  never  confined  to  a  bed  for  a  single 
day.  To  him  virtue  is  health  ;  and  he  quotes  Dr.  John 
son's  saying,  that  every  man  is  a  rascal  when  he  is  sick. 

1  My  Study  Windows,  essay  on  Thoreau. 


196  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSOX. 

He  believes  the  outward  complaint  originates  in  some 
inward  complaint,  and  sees  that  if  we  were  perfectly 
obedient  to  the  laws  of  the  soul  and  of  nature,  there 
would  be  no  sickness  or  disease.  His  views  on  this  sub 
ject,  as  on  so  many  others,  have  been  misunderstood. 
Miss  Bremer  interpreted  them  by  supposing  him  "  too 
strong  and  healthy  himself  to  understand  other  people's 
weaknesses  and  sufferings ;  for  he  even  despises  suffer 
ing,  as  a  weakness  unworthy  of  higher  natures.  This 
singularity  of  character  leads  one  to  suppose  that  he 
lias  never  been  ill."  His  philosophy  led  him  to  despise 
suffering,  and  to  distrust  feeling,  as  it  led  Plotinus  and 
his  successors  to  despise  the  body,  and  to  wish  to  be  rid 
of  it.  He  believed  the  pure  and  holy  soul  should  so 
control  the  material  form  it  has  put  forth  from  itself  as 
its  sensual  dwelling-place,  that  it  may  always  be  strong 
and  healthy ;  so  he  despised  suffering  and  condemned 
sickness  as  a  sign  of  the  soul's  discord  with  itself.  He 
believed  that  human  suffering  arises  from  disobedience 
to  laws  that  may  and  ought  to  be  obeyed.  When  obeyed, 
the  sickness  \vill  cease,  and  the  weakness  will  be  gone. 

In  the  same  way,  he  has  regarded  mere  feeling  as  a 
sign  of  weakness.  He  has  carefully  suppressed  it  in 
himself  and  distrusted  it  in  others.  Vigorous  as  has 
been  his  belief  in  intuition  and  ecstasy,  prone  as  he  has 
been  to  accept  theories  which  culminate  in  religious 
enthusiasm  and  feeling,  yet  he  has  himself  always  de 
spised  emotion  and  undue  excitement  of  the  affectional 
nature.  -  Accepting  a  philosophy  which  ignores  the 
methods  of  logic  ;ni<l  cool  argumentation,  which  rejects 
the  slow  and  toilsome  processes  of  the  understanding, 
.yet  he  has  himself  been  remarkably  critical  and  exact 
ing  in  his  judgments.  lie  has,  consequently,  never 
fallen  into  those  excesses  of  opinion  and  conduct  which 
have  characterized  some  of  the  believers  in  intuition. 
Whatever  the  follies  of  the  transcendental  period,  its 
wild  excesses  of  feeling,  of  judgment,  and  of  opinion, 
none  of  these  appear  in  the  sayings  and  doings  of  Emer 
son.  Maintaining  a  philosophy  which  has  more  than 
any  other  given  rise  to  wild  extravagances,  and  him- 


THE   MAST   AND    THE   LIFE.  197 

self  teaching  as  truth  doctrines  that  are  saturated  with 
the  elements  of  religious  fanaticism,  yet  he  has  always 
spoken  in  a  calm,  rational,  self-poised  spirit.  What  was 
feeling  in  others  and  excess  of  emotion,  giving  rise  to 
strange  outbursts  of  imaginative  power,  has  been  in 
him  a  dispassionate  rational  process  of  calm  inquiry 
after  the  truth.  The  emotional  excesses  of  Margaret 
Fuller,  her  regarding  feeling  as  a  signal  of  great  truths 
revealed  to  the  soul,  he  distrusted  and  even  held  in  con 
tempt.  She  suspected  his  coldness  and  critical  temper 
of  mind,  and  he  was  more  than  annoyed  by  her  fervent 
heat  of  thought  and  excess  of  feeling.  His  poetic  tem 
perament  brought  him  into  sympathy  with  a  philosophy 
which  the  strongly  intellectual  bent  of  his  nature  would 
otherwise  have  led  him  to  reject.  Hence  he  has  accepted 
in  a  dispassionate  spirit  philosophic  opinions,  the  nature 
of  which  in  most  minds  is  to  excite  to  feeling  and  en 
thusiasm.  This  fact  has  had  a  marked  influence  on  his 
career,  and  is  shown  forth  in  that  calm,  self-poised  spirit 
all  his  words  and  acts  indicate. 

Hospitality  is  another  of  Emerson's  characteristics. 
His  house  has  been  open  to  friendship  and  generous  en 
tertainment,  and  made  free  to  those  desirous  of  sharing 
in  its  hospitality.  He  receives  with  cordiality  all  who 
bring  to  him  any  generous  word  or  earnest  purpose,  and 
in  a  spirit  that  is  simple,  unaffected,  and  generous.  Yet 
he  never  obtrudes  himself,  does  not  regard  his  own  per 
sonal  .preferences  as  of  interest  to  others.  There  is  no 
egotism  in  his  nature,  no  self-intrusion.  He  has  been 
wanting  in  personal  ambitions,  in  endeavors  to  bring 
himself  before  the  public.  The  common  and  the  great, 
the  wise  and  the  ignorant,  have  alike  come  to  his  door, 
and  been  welcomed  with  equal  generosity ;  whoever 
had  a  pure,  brave,  or  true  thought  to  give,  has  been 
received  with  delight. 

As-Sanborn  well  suggests,1  he  has  a  genius  for  friend 
ship.  His  intimate  relations  with  Alcott,  Parker,  Hedge, 
Bartol,  Margaret  Fuller,  Lowell,  W.  E.  Charming,  Tho- 
reau,  Sanboru,  Miss  Peabody,  Henry  James,  Caiiyle,  and 

i  Literary  World,  May,  1880. 


198  HALPH   WALDO    EMTTftSOX. 

«« 

several  others,  show  the  attracting  power  of  his  person 
ality.  To  some  of  these  he  has  been  a  friend  in  the 
largest  sense  possible,  a  confidant  in  difficulties,  a  helper 
in  times  of  need.  They  bear  most  ardent  testimony  to 
the  strength  of  his  sympathies  and  the  largeness  of  his 
generosity.  His  fine  devotion  to  his  brothers,  and  his 
faithful  service  to  many  other  members  of  his  family, 
show  the  largeness  of  his  heart  and  the  loyalty  of  his 
nature.  He  has  written  much  of  the  sacred  joys  of 
friendship,  but  he  has  written  nothing  equal  to  his  own 
exemplification  of  its  qualities.  In  this,  as  in  all  things 
else,  he  has  been  what  he  preached;  preaching  only  what 
he  found  to  be  real  in  his  own  rich  and  many-sided  ex 
perience  of  the  highest  things  which  life  can  give. 

Of  a  retiring  and  diffident  nature,  he  has  kept  aloof 
from  a  public  life.  Yet  all  the  more  strongly  has  he 
therefore  been  drawn  to  the  circle  of  friends  with  whom 
he  has  been  in  sympathy.  Among  these  persons  was 
the  friend  of  his  youth,  Sarah  Bradford,  who  became 
the  wife  of  the  Rev.  Samuel  Ripley.  In  her  old  "age 
she  went  to  live  in  Concord,  and  was  wont  to  pass 
each  Sunday  evening  at  Emerson's  house.  With  other 
friends  such  as  this  one,  long  trusted  and  admired,  he 
was  accustomed  for  many  years  to  spend  that  evening 
in  conversation  on  subjects  dear  to  them  all.  Perhaps 
he  valued  no  friend  more  than  Mrs.  Ripley,  and  none 
ever  influenced  him  so  long  and  deeply.  After  her 
death,  in  July,  1867,  he  said  of  her,— 

"At  a  time  when  perhaps  no  other  woman  read  Greek,  she  ac 
quired  the  language  with  ease,  and  read  Plato,  —  adding  soon  the 
advantage  of  German  commentators.  After  her  marriage,  when  her 
husband,  the  well-known  clergyman  of  Waltham,  received  boys  in 
his  house  to  be  fitted  for  college,  she  assumed  the  advanced  instruc 
tion  in  Greek  and  Latin,  and  did  not  fail  to  turn  it  to  account  by 
extending  her  studies  in  the  literature  of  both  languages.  .  .  .  She 
became  one  of  the  best  Greek  scholars  in  the  country,  and  continued, 
in  her  latest  years,  the  habit  of  reading  Homer,  the  tragedians,  and 
Plato.  But  her  studies  took  a  wide  range  in  mathematics,  in  nat 
ural  philosophy,  in  psychology,  in  theology,  as  well  as  in  ancient 
and  modern  literature.  She  had  always  a  keen  ear  open  to  what 
ever  new  facts  astronomy,  chemistry,  or  the  theories  of  light  or 
heat  haxl  to  furnish.  Any  knowledge,  all  knowledge,  was  welcome. 


THE   MAN   AND   THE   LIFE.  199 

Her  stores  increased  day  by  day.  She  was  absolutely  without  ped 
antry.  Nobody  ever  heard  of  her  learning  until  a  necessity  came 
for  its  use,  and  then  nothing  could  be  more  simple  than  her  solu 
tion  of  the  problem  proposed  to  her.  The  most  intellectual  gladly 
conversed  with  one  whose  knowledge,  however  rich  and  varied,  was 
always  with  her  only  the  means  of  new  acquaintance.  .  .  .  She 
was  not  only  the  most  amiable,  but  the  tenderest  of  women,  wholly 
sincere,  thoughtful  for  others.  .  .  .  She  was  absolutely  without 
appetite  for  luxury  or  display  or  praise  or  influence,  with  entire  in 
difference  to  trifles." 

Emerson  has  taken  a  keen  interest  in  all  which  con 
cerned  the  culture  and  advancement  of  his  townsmen. 
He  was  long  a  zealous  friend  of  the  Concord  Lyceum, 
devoting  to  it  much  of  his  time  and  thought.  When 
its  fiftieth  anniversary  was  celebrated,  E.  R.  Hoar  bore 
testimony  as  follows  to  Emerson's  influence  throughout 
the  town :  — 

"  It  was  the  felicity  of  the  Lyceum,  as  it  was  the  good  fortune  of 
the  town,  that  Mr.  Emerson  came  to  live  among  us.  He  has  deliv 
ered  before  the  Concord  Lyceum  in  the  last  fifty  years  ninety-eight 
lectures.  Distant  be  the  day  when  this  community  shall  be  free  to 
give  full  expression  to  its  gratitude  to  him,  and  to  the  love  and 
honor  which  his  townsmen  bear  to  him  !  But  our  ceremony  would 
be  incomplete  if  I  did  not  ask  you  to  pause  for  a  moment,  and  to 
think  what  the  simple  statement  of  those  ninety-eight  lectures 
means.  What  a  wealth  of  intellectual  treasure  has  been  spread 
out  before  this  people  1  What  keenness  of  analysis,  what  treasures 
of  wit  and  wisdom,  what  lofty  and  inspiring  thought,  what  results 
of  a  noble  life,  are  contained  in  those  manuscript  pages  which  he 
has  read  to  us!  The  presence  of  Mr.  Emerson  in  Concord  has 
been  the  education  of  the  town.  It  has  given  it  its  principal  dis 
tinction  in  our  generation." 

He  has  for  many  years  been  a  member  of  the  Social 
Circle,  a  Concord  club  organized  in  1782,  growing  out 
of  the  revolutionary  committee  of  safety.  Societies  of 
a  wider  character  have  honored  themselves  by  making 
him  a  member.  He  is  connected  with  the  Massachu 
setts  Historical  Society  and  various  other  American 
institutions.  The  French  Academy  has  made  him  a 
member  ^f  its  section  of  Moral  and  Political  Sciences. 
He  has  belonged  to  several  clubs  succeeding  that  organ 
ized  by  the  traiuscendeiitaiists.  In  1849  the  Transcen- 


200  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

dental  Club  was  succeeded  by  the  Town  and  Country 
Club,  mainly  organized  by  the  efforts  of  Alcott.  Emer 
son  gave  it  its  name  ;  and  he  read  before  it  the  first 
essay  to  which  it  listened,  on  Books  and  Reading.  This 
was  on  May  2,  1849.  Among  its  members  were  Garri 
son,  Parker,  W.  H.  Charming,  W.  E.  Charming,  Alcott, 
Phillips,  Hedge,  Howe,  King,  Lowell,  Weiss,  Wh.ipi.le, 
Higginson,  Very,  Pillsbury,  and  Thoreau.  Subse 
quently  he  frequently  attended  the  meetings  of  the 
contributors  to  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  where  his  apt  and 
pointed  words  were  listened  to  gladly.  He  was  not 
there  or  elsewhere  a  frequent  talker,  being  always 
reticent,  and  not  easy  to  come  into  free  intercourse  with 
other  minds ;  but  when  he  did  speak,  it  was  out  of  a  full 
and  exact  mind.  He  has  been  an  occasional  attendant 
at  the  Radical  Club  and  other  similar  gatherings. 
Strongly  inclined  to  shun  society  and  publicity,  he  has 
not  for  many  years  taken  an  active  part  in  the  social 
and  literary  efforts  of  this  kind. 

Emerson  is  characterized  for  modesty  and  simplicity, 
for  guilelessness  of  character,  and  for  a  remarkable 
loyalty  of  nature.  He  has  a  loyal  Jove  for  truth,  and  is 
eager  in  the  search  for  it.  Fame  has  not  affected,  nor 
has  criticism  hurt  him.  Whatever  the  praise  or  blame, 
he  has  kept  steadily  011  his  way,  in  the  same  child-like, 
sincere,  and  trustful  manner.  His  life  has  been  above 
reproach ;  and  he  has  been  constantly  devoted  to  human 
good,  steadily  loyal  to  his  own  ideals.  Withdrawn  from 
the  strifes  and  the  passions  of  a  public  career,  living 
the  quiet,  peaceful  life  of ,  the  scholar,  he  has  yet  been 
faithful  to  the  great  human  interests  of  his  time.  His 
life  has  been  as  moral,  as  ethically  true,  as  his  teaching 
has  been  ;  he  has  practiced  his  own  precepts,  exempli 
fied  his  own  doctrines.  "  Beyond  almost  all  literary 
men  on  record,  Higginson  §ays,  his  life  has  been  worthy 
of  his  words." 

He  is  a  Puritan,  with  all  that  is  harsh,  repulsive,  and 
uncomfortable  in  Puritanism  removed ;  but  quite  as 
loyal  to  moral  purposes^  as  uncompromising  in  his  devo 
tion  to  the  right  and  the  true,  as  unconcerned  for  the 


THE   MAN   AND   THE    LIFE.  201 

beauty  and  the  culture  and  the  ease  that  are  not 
moral.  As  earnest  a  lover  of  culture  as  Goethe,  he  yet 
has  none  of  Goethe's  culture  for  its  own  sake.  As 
severe  a  critic  as  Carlyle,  he  has  none  of  Carlyle's 
despair,  He  has  been  kind,  tender,  and  sympathetic  in 
his  criticisms,  though  earnest  in  his  condemnation  of 
evil.  As  a  moral  teacher,  none  can  refuse  to  admire 
him  more  than  Goethe  or  Carlyle,  for  the  humanness  of 
his  manner,  method,  and  aim.  By  his  neighbors,  those 
who  have  known  him  longest  and  most  intimately,  he 
is  regarded  with  reverence  and  devotion.  They  see  in 
him  what  constantly  reminds  them  of  the  saint.  He 
has  been,  called  a  sage,  but  he  has  more  than  wisdom ; 
he  has  that  loftiness  and  wholeness  of  character,  that 
loyalty  and  self-forgetfulness,  that  simplicity  and  wide- 
ness  of  sympathy,  and  especially  that  high  sense  of 
human  faithfulness  to  the  Divine,  which  characterizes 
the  saintly  life* 


202  RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON. 


XV. 

LITERARY  METHODS. 

IT  has  been  Emerson's  habit  to  spend  the  forenoon  in 
his  study,  with  constant  regularity.  He  has  not 
waited  for  moods,  but  caught  them  as  they  came,  and 
used  their  results  in  each  day's  work.  He  has  been 
a  diligent  though  a  slow  and  painstaking  worker.  It 
has  been  his  wont  to  jot  down  his  thoughts  at  all  hours 
and  places.  The  suggestions  which  result  from  his 
readings,  conversations,  and  meditations  are  transferred 
to  the  note-book  he  carries  with  him.  In  his  walks 
many  a  gem  of  thought  is  thus  preserved ;  and  his 
mind  is  always  alert,  quick  to  see,  his  powers  of  obser 
vation  being  perpetually  awake.  The  results  of  his 
thinking  are  thus  stored  up,  to  be  made  use  of  when 
required.  The  story  is  told,  that  his  wife  suddenly 
wakened  in  the  night,  before  she  knew  his  habits,  and 
heard  him  moving  about  the  room.  She  anxiously 
inquired  if  he  were  ill.  "  Only  an  idea,"  was  his  reply, 
and  proceeded  to  jot  it  down.  Curtis  humorously  says, 
the  villagers  "relate  that  he  has  a  huge  manuscript 
book,  in  which  he  incessantly  records  the  ends  of 
thoughts,  bits  of  observation  and  experience,  the  facts 
of  all  kinds,  —  a  kind  of  intellectual  and  scientific 
scrap-bag,  into  which  all  shreds  and  remnants  of  con 
versation  and  reminiscences  of  wayside  reveries  are 
incontinently  thrust."  l 

After  his  note-books  are  filled,  he  transcribes  their  con 
tents  to  a  larger  commonplace  book.  He  then  writes 
at  the  bottom,  or  in  the  margin,  the  subject  of  each 
paragraph.  When  he  desires  to  write  an  essay,  he 
turns  to  his  note-books,  transcribes  all  his  paragraphs 

1  Homes  of  American  Authors 


LITERARY  METHODS.          .  203 

on  that  subject,  drawing  a  perpendicular  line  through 
whatever  he  has  thus  copied.  These  separate  jottings, 
perhaps  written  years  apart,  and  in  widely  different  cir 
cumstances  and  moods,  are  brought  together,  arranged 
in  such  order  as  is  possible,  and  are  welded  together  by 
such  matter  as  is  suggested  at  the  time.  Alcott  relates 
going  once  to  his  study,  to  find  him  with  many  sheets 
of  manuscript  scattered  about  on  the  floor,  which  he 
was  anxiously  endeavoring  to  arrange  in  something  like 
a  systematic  treatment  of  the  subject  in  hand  at  the 
time.  The  essay  thus  prepared  is  read  before  an  audi 
ence  to  test  its  quality  and  construction.  Its  parts  are 
frequently  re-arranged.  Perhaps  in  its  construction 
portions  of  previously  used  lectures  are  made  to  do 
new  service.  Should  the  lecture  come  at  last  to  be  put 
into  one  of  his  books,  it  is  pruned  of  all  but  the  telling 
sentences.  His  lectures  which  are  rapidly  composed, 
for  special  occasions,  have  a  continuity  and  flow  of 
thought  quite  different  from  the  essays  in  his  books. 
The  address  on  Lincoln,  written  in  one  evening,  shows 
this.  The  published  essays  are  often  the  results  of 
many  lectures,  the  most  pregnant  sentences  and  para 
graphs  alone  being  retained.  His  apples  are  sorted 
over  and  over  again,  until  only  the  very  rarest,  fhe 
most  perfect,  are  left.  It  does  not  matter  that  those 
thrown  away  are  very  good,  and  help  to  make  clear  the 
possibilities  of  the  orchard ;  they  are  unmercifully  cast 
aside.  His  essays  are,  consequently,  very  slowly 
elaborated,  wrought  out  through  days  and  months,  and 
even  years,  of  patient  thought. 

A  curious  evidence  of  this  method  of  constructing  his 
essays  may  be  found,  by  the  attentive  reader,  in  the 
repetition  of  the  same  phrases  in  different  essays  ;  show 
ing  a  lapse  of  memory  sometimes  permits  him  to  draw 
out  the  same  sentences  and  ideas  more  than  once.  Some 
of  his  favorite  expressions,  such  as,  "  Hitch  your  wagon 
to  a  star,"  are  several  times  repeated.  In  Society  and 
Solitude  he  twice  quotes,  in  different  essays,  Welling 
ton's  saying,  that  "  uniforms  are  often  masks ; "  as  he 
does  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  remark,  "  that  the  best  and  high- 


204  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

est  courages  are  beams  of  the  Almighty."  One  of  the 
most  striking  instances  of  repetition  is  to  be  found  in 
the  essays  on  Farming  and  Perpetual  Forces.  The 
analogies  from  the  convertibility  of  forces  run  almost 
precisely  parallel  in  these  essays,  showing  the  same 
materials  were  used  in  their  composition.  The  para 
graph  on  p.  128  of  the  essay  on  Farming,  beginning, 
"  Who  are  the  farmer's  servants  ?  "  is  almost  verbatim 
repeated  in  the  other  essay,  in  the  paragraph  beginning 
at  the  bottom  of  the  first  page.1  In  Perpetual  Forces, 
the  paragraphs  at  the  bottom  of  p.  272  and  at  the  top 
of  p.  273  contain  the  same  matter  with  the  paragraph 
in  the  essay  on  Farming  beginning  at  the  bottom  of 
p.  129,  but  arranged  in  a  quite  different  order.  By 
comparing  these  with  each  other,  it  will  be  seen  how 
he  re-works  the  materials  of  his  commonplace  books. 
In  this  way  he  preserves  the  best  materials  of  the  fresh 
est  hours  of  thought,  to  be  slowly  recast  and  put  into 
form  in  the  quiet  of  his  study.  Every  mood  is  thus 
chronicled,  but  the  results  produced  from  his  medita 
tions  depend  on  persistent  labor. 

"  Is  it  imaginable,  Alcott  asks,  that  he  conceives  his  piece  as  a 
whole,  and  then  sits  down  to  execute  his  task  at  a  heat?  Is  not 
this  imaginable  rather,  and  the  key  to  the  construction  of  his 
works  ?  Living  for  composition  as  few  authors  can,  and  holding 
company,  studies,  sleep,  exercise,  affairs,  subservient  to  thoughts, 
his  products  are  gathered  as  they  ripen,  stored  in  his  common 
places  ;  their  contents  transcribed  at  intervals,  and  classified.  It 
is  the  order  of  ideas,  of  imagination  observed  in  the  arrangement, 
not  of  logical  sequence.  You  may  begin  at  the  last  paragraph  and 
read  backwards.  Each  period  is  self -poised ;  there  may  be  a  chasm 
of  years  between  the  opening  passage  and  the  last  written,  and 
there  is  endless  time  in  the  composition.  These  good  things  have 
been  talked  and  slept  over,  meditated  standing  and  sitting,  read 
and  polished  in  the  utterance;  and  so  accepted  they  pass  into 
print."2 

His  essays  are  all  carefully  revised  again  and  again, 
corrected,  wrought  over,  portions  dropped,  and  new 
matter  added.  He  is  unsparing  in  his  corrections,  strik- 

1  North  American  Review,  September,  1877,  p.  271. 

2  Concord  Days,  Essay  on  Emerson. 


LITERARY    METHODS.  205 

ing  out  sentence  after  sentence ;  and  paragraphs  disap 
pear  from  time  to  time.  His  manuscript  is  everywhere 
crowded  with  erasures  and  corrections ;  scarcely  a  page 
appears  that  is  not  covered  with  these  evidences  of  his 
diligent  revision.  An  illustration  of  his  corrections  may 
be  found  in  the  essay  on  Plato,  in  Representative  Men, 
which  began,  when  read  as  a  lecture,  in  this  wise :  — 

"  The  work  of  Plato  is  that  writing,  which,  in  the  history  of  civ 
ilization,  is  entitled  to  Omar's  account  of  the  Koran,  when  "he  said, 
'  Burn  the  libraries ;  for,  if  they  contain  any  thing  good,  it  is  con 
tained  in  this  book ! '  These  sentences  contain  the  culture  of  na 
tions  ;  these  are  the  corner-stone  of  schools ;  these  are  the  fountain- 
head  of  literatures.  Nothing  but  God  can  give  invention.  Every 
thing  else,  one  would  say,  the  study  of  Plato  would  give.  A  disci 
pline  it  is  in  logic,  arithmetic,  taste,  symmetry,  poetry,  language, 
rhetoric,  ontology,  morals,  or  practical  wisdom.  There  never  was 
such  range  of  speculation.  Buonaparte  was  nicknamed  centmille. 
Plato,  by  his  breadth,  deserves  the  name,  and  much  more.  Out  of 
him  came  all  things  that  are  still  written  and  debated  among  men 
of  thought." 

Comparing  this  wLh  the  essay  as  printed,  a  very  clear 
idea  is  obtained  of  his. patient  habit  of  close  and  dili 
gent  correction,  polishing,  making  stronger  his  state 
ments,  lopping  off  all  superfluous  words  and  sentences, 
and  refining  from  all  that  does  not  appear  to  be  per 
fectly  relevant  and  appropriate.  The  second  paragraph 
of  this  essay  originally  stood  in  his  manuscript,  in  its 
opening  sentences,  as  follows :  — 

"  Plato  is  philosophy,  and  philosophy  Plato.  Plato  is  the  glory 
and  the  shame  of  mankind.  Vain  are  the  laurels  of  Rome ;  vain 
the  pride  of  England  in  her  Newton,  Milton,  and  Shakspere  ;  wThilst 
neither  Saxon  nor  Roman  have  availed  to  add  any  idea  to  the  cata- 
gories  of  Plato.  What  a  posterity  is  his  !  No  wife,  no  children  had 
he ;  and  the  thinkers  of  all  civilized  nations  are  his  children,  and 
are  tinged  with  his  mind." 

Tn  the  essay  on  the  Uses  of  Great  Men,  the  paragraph 
on  p.  15^ ended  with  the  word  u  shape,"  near  the  bottom 
of  the- printed  page.  A  new  paragraph  began  cLere  in 
the  manuscript,  which  has  been  omitted.  It  shows  his 
meaning  move  clearly  than  any  thing  retained,  and  illus- 


206  RALPH   WALDO    EMEESOX. 

trates  his  habit  of  merciless  pruning.  These  sentences, 
it  may  be  conjectured,  were  omitted  because  liable  to 
the  charge  of  extravagance  or  from  fear  of  their  misin 
terpretation,  and  because  in  substance  repeated  on  p.  17. 
He  is  speaking  of  the  possibility  of  interpreting  every 
thing  in  nature. 

"The  possibility  of  interpretation  lies  in  the  identity  of  the 
observer  with  the  observed.  The  genius  that  has  done  what  the 
world  desired,  say,  to  find  his  way  between  ozote  and  oxygen,  to 
detect  the  new  rock  superposition,  to  find  the  law  of  the"  curves, 
can  do  it,  because  he  has  jtiat  come  out  ot  nature,  or  from  being  a 
part  of  that  thing.  lie  knows  the  way  of  ozote,  because  he  is  ozote. 
Man  is  a  piece  of  the  universe  made  alive." 

In  the  essay  on  Shakspere  a  portion  of  the  paragraph 
ending  at  the  top  of  p.  211  has  been  omitted.  Though 
a  most  striking  and  eloquent  passage,  it  is  not  difficult 
to  guess  why  it  was  dropped.  Was  it  from  his  desire 
to  keep  within  the  strict  limits  of  truth,  and  not  to 
appear  extravagant  in  his  praise  ? 

"  There  is  nothing  in  literature  comparable  to  Shakspere's 
expression,  for  strength  and  for  delivery.  Men  have  existed  who 
affirmed  that  they  heard  the  language  of  celestial  angels  talked 
with  them ;  but  that,  when  they  returned  into  the  natural  World, 
though  they  preserved  the  memory  of  these  conversations,  they 
found  it  impossible  to  transmute  the  things  that  had  been  said  into 
human  thoughts  and  words.  But  Shakspere  is  like  one  who  had 
been  rapt  into  some  purer  state  of  sensation  and  existence,  had 
learned  the  secret  of  a  finer  diction,  and,  when  he  returned  to  this 
World,  retained  the  fine  organ  which  had  been  opened  above." 

His  printed  essays  show  many  changes  after  their 
first  delivery  as  lectures.  The  essay  on  Courage,  in 
Society  and  Solitude,  contains  some  matter  on  the  same 
subject,  used  in  a  lecture  delivered  in  Tremont  Temple, 
"Boston,  in  November,  1859.  Yet  the  whole  structure 
of  it  has  been  changed ;  and  all  the  local  matter,  appli 
cable  to  the  stormy  time  of  John  Brown's  imprisonment 
arid  death,  is  omitted.  The  essay  on  Farming,  in  the 
same  volume,  was  given  as  an  address  before  the  Mid 
dlesex  County  Kaij-,  at  Concord,  in  1858.  The  opening 
and  closing  portions  of  the  address  are  omitted,  and 


LITERARY    METHODS,  207 

about  two  pages  of  new  matter  added  at  the  end  of  the 
essay. 

The  changes  indicated  by  these  examples  remind  us 
that  almost  every  thing  Emerson  has  written  was  pre 
pared  for  the  lecture-platform.  Even  English  Traits, 
apparently  an  exception,  is  not  entirely  so ;  for  he  gave 
several  lectures  on  that  subject  before  his  book  was 
published.  He  has  always  been  mindful  of  his  audi 
ence,  though  no  man  could  accept  its  dictation  less. 
He  has  not  usually  taken  the  best  methods  to  bring  a 
popular  audience  to  his  ways  of  thinking,  but  he  has 
never  forgotten  the  faces  before  him.  Some  hint  of 
the  lecture  is  in  all  his  essays,  though  the  numberless 
corrections  remove  many  more  traces  of  it.  The  liter 
ary  form  he  has  adopted  has  been  determined  by  the 
fact  of  his  being  for  a  half-century  a  great  peripatetic 
preacher,  who  has  treasured  every  means  his  geniu;; 
could  use  for  the  moral  instruction  and  reformation  of 
his  countrymen.  He  has  not  been  primarily  a  book 
maker,  as  Carlyle  has  been,  but  an  unsettled  preacher, 
or  a  university  lecturer  on  morals  without  occupying  a 
professor's  chair.  The  books  have  been  an  after 
thought,  lectures  printed  after  the  exigencies  of  the 
platform  demanded  new  topics. 

This  method  of  composition  has  led  to  a  wonderful 
power  of  condensation,  and  to  a  marvelous  compact 
ness  of  expression.  His  concentrated  sentences  are 
doubtless  wrought  out,  one  by  one,  in  his  lonely  walks, 
or  in  the  quiet  of  his  study,  and  worked  over  in  his  mind 
until  the  words  perfectly  fit  the  thought.  His  words  are 
thus  packed  and  crammed  with  thought.  Such  a 
method  has  filled  his  pages  with  quotable  sentences  and 
proverbial  expressions,  that  jam  all  we  know  about  a 
subject  into  a  dozen  words.  In  no  other  writer  are 
there  so  many  sentences  which  complete  the  subject, 
and  which  will  stand,  unsupported  and  alone,  as  vindi 
cations  of  the  author's  thought.  An  essay  packed  full 
of  such  sentences  is  hard  reading ;  for  each  reader  must 
join  sentence  to  sentence,  and  supply  the  connections 
himself.  His  essays  are  remarkable  for  their  quick, 


208  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

sharp,   intense   sentences,    found   everywhere    through 
his  writings.     There  is  an  abruptness  abotit  his  method, 
that  partly   comes   of  his  habits   of   composition,   and 
partly  from  his  manner  of  exhausting  an  idea  in  a  few 
intensely  condensed  expressions,  and  then  passing  imme 
diately  to  the  next  subject  which   occurs.     From    the 
center  of  one  idea  he  passes,  without  pause,  to  the  very 
core  of  the  next ;  and  no  attempt  is  made  to  show  their 
relations.     This  is  a  marked  characteristic  of  his  writ 
ings.     John  Burroughs  says,1  he  k4is  an  essence,  a  con 
densation  ;  more  so,  perhaps,  than  any  other  man  who 
has  appeared  in  literature.     Nowhere  else  is  there  such 
a  preponderance  of  pure  statement,  of  the  very  attar  of 
thought  over  the  bulkier,  circumstantial,  qualifying,  or 
secondary  elements."      In   this   way   the   water   is   all 
"boiled  out,  and  the  condensed   meat  alone  left  behind. 
While  few  intellectual  stomachs  can  digest  such  food 
without  dilution,  the  condensation  insures  long  preser 
vation,  and  use  on  all  times  and   occasions,  even  when 
bulkier  food  is  not  desirable.     As  a  result,  "  a  pinch  of 
hirn  is  equivalent  to  a  page  or  two  of  Johnson;  and  he 
is  pitched  many  degrees  higher  as  an  essayist  than  even 
Bacon."     His  books  have   a  wonderful  amount  of  the 
testing  power  of  all  such  writings,  capacity  to  stimulate 
thought,  to   quicken   motives,  and   to   roiise   fresh  pur 
poses.     Every  page,  each  paragraph,  suggests  so  many 
trains  of  wholesome  and  ennobling  thought,  that  it  is 
almost   impossible    to    sit    down    and  read  one   of  his 
essays   through   without   pause.      To    obtain    the    full 
strength  of  these  writings,  they  should  lie  close  at  hand 
day  and  night,  to  be  caught  up  at  every  interval,  and  a 
few  lines  carefully  conned,  to  serve  as  the  seed-corn  of 
the  day's  impulses  and  of  the  night's  meditations.     It 
does  not  matter  which  book   one   opens,   or  to  which 
page  ;  all  is  good,  every  one  has  an   answering  word  of 
life   tit   to    solve    one's    destiny.     Many  moods   of   the 
human  mind  find  an  answering  response,  while  fact  and 
experience  may  be  found  set  down  here  in  their  proper 
place  in  relation  to  the  health  and  sanity  of  life.     Con- 

1  Birds  and  Poets,  p.  isii. 


LITEEABY   METHODS.,  £09 

cerning  this  universality  of  wisdom  in  these  pages.  Bur 
roughs  thus  discourses :  — 

"  I  know  of  no  other  writing  that  yields  the  reader  so  many 
strongly  stamped  medallion-like  sayings  and  distinctions.  There 
is  a  perpetual  refining  and  recoiiiing  of  the  current  wisdom  of  life 
and  conversation.  It  is  the  old  gold  or  silver  or  copper,  but  how 
bright  and  new  it  looks  in  his  pages.  Emerson  loves  facts,  things, 
objects,  as  the  workman  his  tools.  He  makes  every  thing  serve. 
Tlie  stress  of  expression  is  so  great  that  he  bends  the  most  obdu 
rate  element  to  his  purpose ;  as  the  bird,  under  her  keen  necessity, 
weaves  the  most  contrary  and  diverse  materials  into  her  nest.  lie 
has  a  wonderful  hardiness  and  push.  Where  else  in  literature  is 
there  a  mind,  moving  in  so  rare  a  medium,  that  gives  one  such  a 
sense  of  tangible  resistance  and  force  ?  He  is  a  man  who  occupies 
every  inch  of  his  rightful  territory ;  he  is  there  in  proper  person  to 
the  farthest  bound." 

His  pages  are  full  of  apothegms,  ready  to  be  quoted 
on  all  occasions ;  and  few  writers  have  so  many  that  are 
so  good.  Rich  and  suggestive  antitheses  appear  every 
where,  resulting  from  his  faith  in  nature  as  the  outward 
expression  of  spirit.  For  the  same  reason  the  metaphor 
and  simile  everywhere  abound.  These  figures  of  speech 
are  usually  true  to  nature,  the  result  of  his  close  study 
of  her  every  mood  and  expression.  His  style  is  intense 
ly  individual,  because  it  is  not  imitative,  but  caught 
from  his  own  meditations  and  observations.  He  deals 
with  the  real  world  without  and  within,  directly,  face 
to  face ;  not  primarily  with  the  world  pictured  in  litera 
ture.  He  writes  down  his  own  thoughts ;  and  he  illus 
trates  his  ideas  from  the  pines,  meadows,  violets,  and 
robins  about  his  own  house.  He  is  always  original,  and 
many  times,  as  E.  P.  Whipple  has  suggested,1  even 
more,  —  "  aboriginal,"  going  back  to  the  very  first  con 
ditions  of  essential  nature.  There  is  "  a  flavor  of  the 
wild  strawberry,  a  fragrance  of  the  wild  rose,"  in  his 
pages,  a  true  picturing  of  the  nature  of  things.  The 
conventionalities  have  departed  from  this  spot  of  earth ; 
and  here  is  a  soul  that  dauntlessly  judges  of  what  is, 
never  for  one  moment  hesitating  to  report  what  he  finds 
to  exist.  He  has  a  keen  and  ready  wit,  that  is  never 

1  Notice  of  his  Complete  Works,  in  The  Independent. 


210  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

used  for  its  own  sake,  but  only  to  flash  a  clearer  light 
upon  some  truth  he  would  illustrate.  He  delights  in 
surprises,  in  sharp-drawn  analogies,  and  in  quick  succes 
sions  of  opposite  statements.  By  these  methods  he  pours 
a  flood  of  light  upon  many  subjects,  and  perpetually 
arouses  and  quickens  the  mind  of  his  reader.  Whoever 
would  read  his  essays  understandingly  must  be  com 
pletely  awake  in  all  his  faculties.  Emerson's  imagina 
tion  is  brilliant  and  far-traveled.  It  illustrates,  but 
seldom  confounds  or  puzzles.  He  gathers  truth  by  the 
intuitive  method,  by  absorption,  and  by  the  keenness  of 
his  insight  into  every  moral  and  spiritual  problem. 

His  essays  are  in  many  ways  open  to  criticism,  and 
some  of  the  critics  have  made  free  with  them.  His  illus 
trations  are  returned  to  again  and  again,  as  that  from  the 
convertibility  of  forces.  Certain  types  of  character  and 
thought  he  constantly  praises,  and  forces  upon  the  read 
er's  attention.  His  lack  of  system,  his  disregard  of  the 
logical  order  of  thought,  do  not  need  to  be  pointed  out. 
His  apparent  love  of  contradictions  and  surprises  has 
puzzled  some  of  the  critics,  and  they  have  written  as  if 
he  ought  to  be  a  Macaulay  or  an  Irving.  He  frequently 
coins  new  forms  of  words,  or  uses  words  with  new  mean 
ings.  He  violates  rhetoric,  and  grammar  as  well,  in 
some  of  his  sentences,  and  loves  extravagant  metaphors, 
as  well  as  extravagant  statements  of  facts.  Concerning 
such  defects  as  these  much  could  be  said,  —  for  much  has 
been  said,  —  as  well  as  on  many  other  topics  of  interest  to 
those  whose  business  it  is  to  point  out  an  author's  faults. 
The  genuine  reader  of  Emerson  will  not  long  find  any 
of  these  defects  standing  in  his  way,  or  allow  them  t> 
hinder  his  admiration.  What  can  be  said  on  the  sub 
ject  of  these  literary  defects  has  been  strongly  presented 
by  an  English  writer.1 

"  As  regards  form,  this  critic  says  Emerson  is  the  most  unsyste 
matic  of  writers.  The  concentration  of  his  style  resembles  that  of 
a  classic,  but  he  everywhere  sacrifices  unity  to  richness  of  detail. 
.  .  .  He  delights  in  proverbs  and  quotations,  which  are  in  general 
marvelously  apt;  but  his  accuracy  is  often  at  fault,  and  in  bin 

i  Professor  Nichols,  in  the  North  British  Review  for  18(57. 


LITERARY   METHODS.  211 

tendency  to  exaggeration  he  is  an  American  of  the  Americans.  He 
loves  a  contradiction  for  its  own  sake,  and  always  prefers  a  surprise 
to  an  argument.  His  epigrams  are  a  series  of  electric  shocks  ;  and 
though  no  one  is  more  prevailingly  sincere,  it  is  sometimes  hard  to 
say  whether  or  not  he  is  wholly  in  earnest ;  for  a  vein  of  soft  irony, 
his  only  manifestation  of  humor,  seems  to  underlie  many  of  his 
most  prononce  passages." 

"Emerson's  most  elaborate  criticisms  are  mainly  composed  of 
the  same  mosaic  work,  and,  in  the  long-run,  we  get  tired  of  these 
perpetual  jerks.  His  style,  all  armed  with  points  and  antitheses, 
lacks  that  repose  which  even  our  modern  impatience  of  rotundity 
still  desiderates.  His  allusions  are  sometimes  far  fetched,  and  his 
general  naturalness  does  not  save  him  from  occasional  affectations 
and  displays  of  pedantry.  In  coining  words,  as,  '  Adamhood,'  '  fore- 
looking,'  '  spicier,' '  specular,'  '  plumule/  '  uncontinented,'  *  metope,' 
'  intimater,'  '  a.ntipode,'  '  partialist,'  he  is  far  from  felicitous.  Mi 
nute  critics  will  find  that  this  disdain  of  rule  extends  to  a  contempt 
of  some  of  the  rules  of  grammar,  as  in  his  employment  of  such  a 
form  as  'shined,'  and  his  continual  use  of  'shall'  for  'will.'  More 
serious  defects  are  his  misapplication  of  terms,  as  when  he  speaks 
of  '  the  strong  sdf-complacent  Luther,  and  the  want  of  taste,  dignity, 
or  moderation  in  such  expressions  as  the  following:  '^Gruth  is 
such  a  fly-away,  such  an  untransportable  and  unbarrelable  a  com 
modity,  that  it  is  as  bad  to  catch  as  light.'  '  The  beauty  that  shim 
mers  in  the  yellow  afternoon  of  October,  who  could  ever  clutch  it  ? ' 
'  It  seems  as  if  Deity  dressed  each  soul,  which  he  sent  into  nature, 
in  certain  virtues  and  powers  not  communicable,  and  wrote  not 
transferable,  and  good  for  this  trip  only,  on  these  garments  of  the 
soul.'  All  those  are  more  or  less  objectionable  as  violences  done 
to  good  sense  or  decorum.  They  are  emphatically  '  smart,'  and 
unworthy  of  the  author  who  is  the  keenest  to  perceive  and  the 
foremost  to  censure  the  flippancy  of  his  countrymen." 

Parker  complained  that  there  is  a  want  of  organic 
completeness  and  orderly  distribution  in  Emerson's 
essays ;  but,  if  he  had  possessed  this  capacity,  much  of 
the  present  charm  and  abandon  of  his  composition 
would  be  gone.  The  logical  order  is  certainly  wanting  ; 
but  Parker  thought  the  subtle  psychological  method,  by 
which  the  wholeness  and  the  relations  of  truth  are  dis 
cerned,  was  also  wanting.  On  the  other  hand,  Alcott 
has  said,  in  his  conversations  about  Emerson,  that  there 
is  a  very  fine  subtle  thread  running  through  each  of  his 
essays,  and  they  are  not  accidentally  put  together. 
This  may  be  said  in  favor  of  his  method,  that  it  is  his 
own,  adapted  to  his  genius ;  and  that  his  most  powerful 


212  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

and  convincing  essays  are  those  with  the  least  apparent 
method.  The  essays  on  Courage  and  Inspiration  are 
orderly  enough ;  but  they  lack  the  subtle,  majestic 
power  of  those  on  Worship  and  Sovereignty  of  Ethics, 
which  may  be  complained  of  as  utterly  lacking  in  logi 
cal  arrangement.  "  His  style  is  one  of  the  rarest  beauty," 
as  Parker  recognized ;  because  it  is  perfectly  adapted  to 
his  mental  processes,  and  to  the  ends  he  has  sought  to 
accomplish.  It  is  simple,  without  imitation,  unique  and 
robust.  It  is  manly,  pure,  direct,  and  thoroughly  nat 
ural.  There  is  no  mistiness  about  his  writings,  very 
seldom  more  than  an  apparent  obscurity ;"  for  he  has  a 
remarkable  power  of  saying  precisely  the  thing  he 
means.  One  of  his  severest  critics  can  not  help  recog 
nizing  that  "he  is  original,  natural,  attractive,  and 
direct,  limpid  in  phrase,  and  pure  in  fancy."  1  He  is 
even  more  remarkable  for  the  intense  moraFpower  with 
which  iis  essays  are  surcharged ;  for  the  clear,  deep  in 
tuitions  of  interior  truths  they  contain;  and  for  their 
bold,  master's  grasp  of  the  fact,  that  beauty,  truth,  and 
goodness  are  glimpses  only  of  the  same  shining  reality. 
Each  of  his  books,  as  Alcott  suggests,  is  filled  with  vig 
orous  thoughts  and  a  sprightly  wit.  "  They  abound  in 
strong  sense,  happy  humor,  keen  criticisms,  subtile  in 
sights,  noble  morals,  clothed  in  a  chaste  and  manly  dic 
tion,  fresh  with  the  breath  of  health  and  progress." 


LITERARY   JUDGMENTS.  213 


XVI. 

LITERARY   JUDGMENTS. 

WHILE  Emerson  has  been  a  zealous  believer  in  the 
inward  method  of  knowing,  he  has  also  been  a 
great  lover  of*  books.  If  he  has  prized  intuition  as 
man's  highest  possession,  he  has  prized  literature  as  its 
chief  means  of  expression.  Books,  he  tells  us,  u  proceed 
out  of  the  silent  living  mind  to  be  heard  again  by  the 
living  mind."  His  recognition  of  both  these  means  of 
receiving  and  communicating  truth  has  been  expressed 
in  these  words  :  — 

"  Always  the  oracular  soul  is  the  source  of  thought,  but  always 
the  occasion  is  administered  by  the  low  mediation  of  circumstances. 
Nature  mixes  facts  with  thoughts,  to  yield  a  poem.  In  the  spirit 
in  which  they  are  written  is  the  date  of  their  duration,  and  never 
in  the  magnitude  of  the  facts.  Every  thing  lasts  in  proportion  to 
its  beauty.  In  proportion  as  it  was  not  polluted  by  any  willfulness 
of  the  writer,  but  flowed  from  his  mind  after  the  divine  order  of 
cause  and  effect,  it  wTas  not  his,  but  Nature's,  and  shared  the  sub 
limity  of  sea  and  sky." 1 

He  maintains  that  knowledge  originates  with  "the 
oracular  soul ;  "  it  is  an  intuition  ;  and  all  writing  is  by 
the  grace  of  God.  The  knowing  soul  is  the  one  which 
sees  into  the  spiritual  nature  of  things,  the  one  that  is 
in  harmony  with  the  universe.  To  such  a  soul  light  is 
given  byjvirtue  of  this  harmony.  Hence  all  true  writ- 
Li  g  is  a  revelation,  a  direct  gift  from  God  to  the  intui 
tive  soul.  The  greatest  of  all  writings  are  therefore 
those  which  express  the  highest  intuitions,  which  con 
tain  direct  perceptions  of  spiritual  realities,  and  reveal 
the  imiiiediate  laws  of  the  moral  nature.  As  the  intui 
tive  nature  relies  much  on  the  imagination,  Emerson 

1  The  Dial,  October,  1840;  Thoughts  on  Modern  Literature. 


214  KALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

values  highly  all  purely  imaginative  works.  Next  to 
direct  intuition  he  values  that  power  of  the  imagination 
which  flashes  light  upon  so  many  realities,  giving  to  the 
poet  his  penetrating  insight  into  the  world  without  and 
within.  In  his  own  writings  he  has  made  a  large  and 
a  noble  use  of  this  gift,  especially  in  his  poems.  They 
are  constantly  beautified  and  made  stronger  by  his  wise 
and  healthful  use  of  the  imagination.  His  pictures  of 
Nature  are  penetrated  with  the  effects  of  this  power. 
He  sees  face  to  face ;  but,  more  than  that,  he  reads  the 
inmost  meaning  of  nature  with  this  richjy  endowed  im 
agination  of  his.  And  next  he  prizes  any  book  of 
facts  which  gives  just  expression  to  the  realities  of  na 
ture.  He  wishes  Nature  to  speak,  he  believes  in  facts, 
and  prizes  all  books  which  tell  us  what  any  genuine  ob 
server  has  seen.  "  The  highest  class  of  books,  he  says, 
are  those  which  express  the  moral  element ;  the  next, 
works  of  the  imagination ;  and  the  next,  works  of 
science,  —  all  deal  in  realities, — what  ought  to  be, 
what  is,  and  what  appears."  And  he  finds  that  all 
books  are  ultimately  measured  by  their  depth  of  thought. 
So  he  sees  in  literature  one  of  the  best  illustrations  of 
the  laws  by  which  the  world  is  governed,  in  that  there 
is  no  luck  in  its  final  judgments,  .which  proceed  as  if 
fated  to  measure  out  due  rewards  to  those  who  write. 
He  distrusts  all  repetition  of  other  men's  judgments  and 
all  theorizing,  but  would  have  us  prize  the  truth  which 
blooms  afresh  in  each  individual  mind.  If  all  minds 
were  purely  and  truly  intuitional,  reading  nature  and 
life  with  open  eyes,  there  would  be  no  need  of  books ; 
for  each  soul  would  then  know  all  tilings  ;  but  as  only 
a  few  persons  are  thus  intuitional,  books  have  a  value  of 
the  greatest  importance.  They  store  up  the  intuitions 
of  the  past,  bringing  down  to  us  only  the  words  of  the 
most  rarely  gifted  minds ;  and  by  their  aid  our  own 
minds  are  awakened  to  a  knowing  of  the  truth  for  our 
selves.  In  the  following  paragraphs  he  brings  out  the 
comparative  value  of  intuition  and  books,  in  accordance 
with  his  theory  of  knowledge  :  — 


LITER  AKY  JUDGMENTS.  215 

"  All  just  criticism  will  not  only  behold  in  literature  the  action 
of  necessary  laws,  but  must  also  oversee  literature  itself.  The 
erect  mind  disparages  all  books.  What  are  books?  it  saith  ;  they 
can  have  no  permanent  value.  How  obviously  initial  they  are  to 
their  authors.  The  books  of  the  nations,  the  universal  books,  are 
long  ago  forgotten  by  those  who  wrote  them ;  and  one  day  we  shall 
forget  this  primer  learning.  Literature  is  made  up  of  a  few 
ideas  and  a  few  fables.  It  is  a  heap  of  nouns  and  verbs  enclosing 
an  intuition  or  two.  We  must  learn  to  judge  books  by  absolute 
standards. 

""When  we  are  aroused  to  a  life  in  ourselves,  these  traditional 
splendors  of  letters  grow  very  pale  and  cold.  Men  seem  to  forget 
that  all  literature  is  ephemeral,  and  unwillingly  entertain  the  sup 
position  of  its  utter  disappearance.  They  deem,  not  only  letters  in 
general,  bat  the  best  books  in  particular,  parts  of  a  pre-established 
harmony,  fatal,  unalterable,  and  do  not  go  behind  Virgil  and  Dante, 
much  less  behind  Moses,  Ezekiel,  and  St.  John.  But  no  man  can 
be  a  good  critic  of  any  book,  who  does  not  read  in  it  a  wisdom 
which  transcends  the  wisdom  of  any  book,  and  treats  the  whole 
extant  product  of  the  human  intellect  as  only  one  age  revisable 
and  reversible  by  him. 

"  In  our  fidelity  to  the  higher  truth,  we  need  not  disown  our 
debt  in  our  actual  state  of  culture,  in  the  twilights  of  experience, 
to  these  rude  helpers.  They  keep  alive  the  memory  and  the  hope 
of  a  better  day.  When  we  flout  all  particular  books  as  initial 
merely,  we  truly  express  the  privilege  of  spiritual  nature  ;  but  alas ! 
not  the  fact  and  fortune  of  this  low  Massachusetts  and  Boston,  of 
these  humble  Junes  .and  Decembers  of  mortal  life.  Our  souls  are 
not  self-fed,  but  do  eat  and  drink  of  chemical  water  and  wheat. 
Let  us  not  forget  the  genial  miraculous  force  we  have  known  to 
proceed  from  a  book.  We  go  musing  into  the  vault  of  day  and 
night;  no  constellation  shines,  no  muse  descends,  the  stars  are 
white  points,  the  roses  brick-colored  dust,  the  frogs  pipe,  mice 
peep,  and  wagons  creak  along  the  road.  We  return  to  the  house 
and  take  up  Plutarch  or  Augustine,  and  read  a  few  sentences  or 
pages,  and  lo !  the  air  swims  with  life ;  the  front  of  heaven  is  full 
of  fiery  shapes ;  secrets  of  magnanimity  and  grandeur  invite  us  on 
every  hand ;  life  is  made  up  of  them.  Such  is  our  debt  to  a  book. 
Observe,  moreover,  that  we  ought  to  credit  literature  with  much 
more  than  the  bare  word  it  gives  us." l 

In  another  essay,2  in  accordance  with  this  last 
thought,  he  says  the  great  man  must  be  a  great  reader, 
and  possess  great  assimilating  power.  He  must  depend 
upon  others,  because  intuition  is  not  constant ;  while  we 
must  try  our  own  intuitions  by  those  of  other  minds 

1  The  Dial,  October,  1840;  Thoughts  on  Modern  Literature. 

2  Quotation  and  Originality,  in  Letters  and  Social  Aims. 


216  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

In  his  address  to  the  students  of  Howard  University, 
he  expressed  even  more  emphatically  his  '  appreciation 
of  the  value  of  books. 

"  Whenever  I  have  to  do  with  young  men  and  women,  he  said, 
I  always  wish  to  know  what  their  books  are ;  I  wish  to  defend 
them  from  bad ;  I  wish  to  introduce  them  to  good ;  I  wish  to  speak 
of  the  immense  benefit  which  a  good  mind  derives  from  reading, 
probably  much  more  to  a  good  mind  from  reading  than  from  con 
versation.  It  is  of  first  importance,  of  course,  to  select  a  friend ; 
for  a  young  man  should  find  a  friend  a  little  older  than  himself,  or 
whose  mind  is  a  little  older  than  his  own,  in  order  to  wake  up  his 
genius.  That  service  is  performed  oftener  for  us  by  books.  I 
think,  if  a  very  active  mind,  if  a  young  man  of  ability,  should  give 
you  his  honest  experience,  you  would  find  that  he  owed  more 
impulse  to  books  than  to  living  minds.  The  great  masters  of 
thought,  the  Platos,  —  not  only  those  that  we  call  sacred  writers, 
but  those  that  we  call  profane,  —  have  acted  on  tlie  mind  with  more 
energy  than  any  companions.  I  think  that  every  remarkable  per 
son  whom  you  meet  will  testify  to  something  like  that,  that  the 
fast-opening  mind  has  found  more  inspiration  in  his  book  than  in 
his  friend.  We  take  the  book  under  great  advantages.  We  read 
it  when  we  are  alone.  We  read  it  with  an  attention  not  distracted. 
And,  perhaps,  we  find  there  our  own  thought,  a  little  better,  a 
little  maturer,  than  it  is  in  ourselves." 

Great  as  is  his  praise  of  books,  he  says  "  the  divine 
never  quotes,  but  is,  and  creates."  Genius  he  regards, 
after  all  acknowledgments  of  the  value  of  books,  as 
surer  of  its  own  faintest  presentiments  than  of  all  his 
tory.  His  theory  of  knowing,  as  well  as  his  standard 
of  judgment  in  literature,  is  in  these  words  defining 
originality :  "  It  is  being,  being  one's  self,  and  reporting 
accurately  what  we  see  and  are."  When  we  are  true 
to  ourselves,  in  being  true  to  Nature  and  the  Over-soul, 
our  thought  becomes  an  accurate  reporter  and  measurer 
of  all  things;  and  this  direct  perception  of  truth  is  an 
intuition,  a  gift  of  the  grace  of  God.  Those  who  have 
had  this  intuitive  power  most  truly  have  written  the 
great  moral,  religious,  and  personal  books  of  the  world, 
which  Emerson  prizes  above  all  others.  He  specially 
values  the  bibles  of  the  race,  the  writers  of  the  great 
religious  books,  and  such  authors  as  Epictetus,  Saadi, 
Thomas  a  Kempis,  Pascal,  and  Boehme.  These  books, 


LITERARY   JUDGMENTS.  217 

he  says,  are  to  be  read  on  the  bended  knee ;  and  they 
are  life  to  all  who  diligently  peruse  them.  They  come 
home  to  our  hearts,  because  they  contain  the  secrets 
which  all  nature,  experience,  and  intuition  teach  us. 
"  I  read  them,"  he  says,  "  on  lichens  and  bark  ;  I  watch 
them  on  waves  on  the  beach ;  they  fly  in  birds,  they 
creep  in  worms;  I  detect  them  in  laughter  and  eye- 
sparkles  of  men  and  women.  These  are  scriptures 
which  the  missionary  might  well  carry  over  prairie, 
desert,  and  ocean,  to  Siberia,  Japan,  and  Timbuctoo. 
Yet  he  will  find  that  the  spirit  which  is  in  them  jour 
neys  faster  than  he,  and  greets  him  on  his  arrival,  — 
was  there  already  long  before  him.  The  missionary 
must  be  carried  by  it,  and  find  it  there,  or  he  goes  in 
vain." 

This  sense  of  spiritual  reality,  the  feeling  of  the 
infinite,  which  is  the  source  of  all  religions  and  litera 
tures,  he  finds  to  be  a  marked  peculiarity  of  modern 
literature,  and  increasingly  so.  It  is  shown  in  one  of 
its  characteristic  traits,  in  the  modern  tendency  to 
accept  all  books  of  all  ages  and  times,  thus  recognizing 
the  universal  workings  of  the  Over-soul  The  curious 
study  into  every  phase  of  human  history  is  an  outcome 
of  it,  and  it  leads  to  a  bold  and  systematic  criticism  of 
the  past.  Along  with  this  tendency,  which  is  largely 
skeptical,  goes  a  subjectiveness  which  restores  the 
organic  unity  of  the  universe  to  the  conceptions  of 
men.  It  "leads  us  to  nature,  and  to  the  invisible  awful 
facts,  to  moral  abstractions,  which  are  not  less  nature 
than  is  a  river  or  a  coal-mine ;  nay,  they  are  far  more 
nature,  but  its  essence  and  soul."  This  feeling  of  the 
Infinite  grows  deeper  and  stronger,  pervades  all  •  litera 
ture,  gives  form  to  moral  purposes,  makes  men  bold  to 
fight  old  evils.  It  is  producing  a  great  literature  of  its 
own.  Concerning  this  tendency,  Emerson  wrote  these 
words  in  The  Dial :  — 

X. 

"  Of  the  perception,  now  fast  becoming  a  conscious  fact,  —  that 
there  is  One  Mind,  and  that  all  powers  and  privileges  which  lie  in 
any,  lie  in  all ;  that  I,  as  a  man,  may  claim  and  appropriate  what 
ever  of  true  and  fair  or  good  or  strong  has  anywhere  been  ex- 


218  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

« 

hibited ;  that  Moses,  Confucius,  Montaigne,  and  Leibnitz  are  not  so 
much  individuals  as  they  are  parts  of  man  and  parts  of  me,  and 
my  intelligence  proves  them  my  own,  —  literature  is  far  the  best 
expression.  All  over  the  modern  world  the  educated  and  suscep 
tible  have  betrayed  their  discontent  with  the  limits  of  municipal 
life,  and  with  the  poverty  of  our  dogmas  of  religion  a,nd  .philos 
ophy.  They  betray  this  impatience  by  fleeing  for  resource  to  a 
conversation  with  nature.  A  wild  striving  to  express  a  more 
inward  and  infinite  sense  characterizes  the  works  of  every  art. 
The  music  of  Beethoven  is  said  by  those  who  understand  it,  to 
labor  with  vaster  conceptions  and  aspirations  than  music  has 
attempted  before.  This  feeling  of  the  Infinite  has  deeply  colored 
the  poetry  of  the  period.  This  new  love  of  the  vast,  always  native 
in  Germany,  \vas  imported  into  France  by  De  Stae'l,  appeared  in 
England  in  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  Byron,  Shelley,  Felicia  Hemans, 
and  finds  a  most  congenial  climate  in  the  American  mind." 

This  sense  of  the   real  and  spiritual,  of  the  Infinite 
and  Eternal,  will  continue  to.  increase.     As  it  does  so, 

fejnius  "  will  write  in  a  higher  spirit,  and  a  wider 
nowledge,  and  with  a  greater  practical  aim,  than  ever 
yet  guided  the  pen  of  poet.  It. will  write  the  annals  of 
a  changed  world,  describe  the  new  heroic  life  of  man, 
and  bind  all  into  a  joyful  reverence  for  the  circumam 
bient  whole."  By  this  power  of  spiritual  truth  are  al] 
books  to  be  judged.  All  that  have  it  Emerson  loves, 
all  that  do  not  have  it  he  finds  to  be  worthless.  This 
power  he  regards  as  a  pioneer,  a  discoverer ;  and  it  con 
tinually  overturns  past  judgments.  He  early  com 
plained  that  we  take  it  for  granted  a  great  deal  is 
known  and  for  ever  settled,  and  to  be  read  out  of 
books.1  "  But  in  truth  all  is  now  to  be  begun ;  and 
every  new  mind  ought  to  take  the  attitude  of  Columbus, 
launch  out  from  the  gaping  loiterers  on  the  shore,  and 
sail  west  for  a  new  world."  A  larger  share  of  the 
books  written  are  worthless  ;  "  a  few  thoughts  are  all  we 
glean  from  the  best  inspection  of  the  paper  pile,  all  the 
rest  is  combination  and  confectionery."  He  thinks  the 
stock-writers  outnumber  the  thinking  men ;  the  larger 
share  of  our  authors  are  merely  men  of  talent,  who 
have  some  feat  to  perform  with  wrords.  "  Talent 
amuses ;  wisdom  instructs.  Talent  shows  what  another 

i  The  Senses  and  the  Soul,  in  The  Dial  for  January,  1842. 


LITERARY   JUDGMENTS.  219 

man  can  do ;  genius  acquaints  me  with  the  spacious 
circuits  of  the  common  nature.  The  one  is  carpentry ; 
the  other  is  growth."  Our  senses  are  yet  too  strong 
for  us,  usurp  our  attention  from  the  ideal  world;  so  that 
we  lead  lives  of  routine,  instead  of  those  of  constant 
moral  inspiration.  In  books  Emerson  finds  the  record 
of  the  great  inspirations  of  the  past,  but  they  are  to 
be  used  only  as  aids  to  new  ones  of  our  own.  The 
moment  any  book,  even  the  greatest,  takes  the  place  to 
us  of  insight  and  inward  seeing  of  the  truth,  that 
moment  it  becomes  an  injury.  Rightly  used,  books 
serve  us  a  great  purpose  as  educators,  guides,  and 
inspirers.  They  show  us  the  way  other  men  have  gone, 
help  us  towards  the  truth  we  ourselves  wish  to  reach ; 
but  they  are  the  helps,  not  the  source  or  the  end,  of 
culture.  Books  can  not  take  the  place  of  the  soul,  and 
when  we  have  nothing  more  we  are  but  poorly  fur 
nished.  To  sit  in  silence  with  God,  in  the  temple  of  a 
free  mind,  or  to  wander  with  him  along  any  of  the 
ways  of  Nature,  is  worth  all  the  books  in  the  world. 
Whatever  the  world  of  books  may  contain,  we  are  to 
set  sail,  with  our  own  thoughts,  for  that  land  of  divine 
truth  which  ever  awaits  those  who  have  the  seeing 
eye  and  the  hearing  ear. 


Emerson  seems  not  to  have  been  affected  very  largely 
by  any  one  writer  in  the  formation  of  his  literary  style. 
The  names  of  Carlyle,  Goethe,  Coleridge,  and  Landor 
have  been  mentioned  as  among  his  masters ;  but  the 
marks  of  the  literary  influence  of  either  in  his  books 
are  but  slight.  To  all  of  them  he  may  be  indebted, 
but  only  to  a  very  limited  extent  has  he  been  affected 
by  either.  He  has  not  been  an  imitator ;  has  said  what 
he  had  to  say  in  the  manner  best  suiting  his  own  pur 
pose  in  saying  it.  He  has  fully  accepted  the  theory  of 
Carlyle  and  Fichte,  that  the  writer  is  the  true  interpret 
er  of  the  divine  idea  of  the  world.  With  the  spirit  and 
purpose  of  those  who  represent  this  thought,  he  has 


220  KALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

been  largely  in  sympathy ;  but  he  has  carried  out  this 
idea  in  his  own  manner. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  he  was  influenced  by  Lan- 
dor  in  his  literary  style.  He  was  early  an  ardent  reader 
and  a  hearty  admirer  of  Landor;  and,  as  he  has  him 
self  described  that  writer,  there  may  be  seen  to  be  some 
superficial  resemblances.  In  1841 1  he  said  of  Landor, 
"  We  do  not  recollect  an  example  of  more  complete  in 
dependence  in  literary  history.  He  has  no  clanship,  no 
friendships,  that  warp  him."  He  then  pronounced  the 
Imaginary  Conversations  original  in  form  and  matter, 
and  said  that  Landor's  books  are  full  of  free  and  sus 
tained  thought,  keen  and  precise  understanding,  indus 
trious  observation  in  every  department  of  life,  an  expe 
rience  to  which  nothing  has  occurred  in  vain,  and  honor 
for  every  just  and  generous  sentiment.  "  His  acquaint 
ance  with  the  English  tongue  is  unsurpassed."  He  is 
pronounced  a  master  of  condensation  and  suppression. 
Almost  alone  among  the  authors  of  that  time  did  Emer 
son  find  in  Landor  a  perception  of  the  moral  power  of 
character.  "  Whosoever  writes,  he  said,  for  the  love  of 
truth  and  beauty,  and  not  with  ulterior  ends,  belongs 
to  the  sacred  class  of  inspirers ;  and  among  these,  few 
of  the  present  age  have  a  better  claim  to  be  numbered 
than  Landor."  \ret  he  found  some  things  in  Landor  he 
could  not  approve,  much  less  imitate.  He  describes 
him  as  "  a  sharp  dogmatic  man  with  a  great  deal  of 
knowledge,  a  great  deal  of  worth,  and  a  great  deal  of 
pride,  with  a  profound  contempt  for  all  that  he  does 
not  understand,  a  master  of  all  elegant  learning,  and 
capable  of  the  utmost  delicacy  of  sentiment,  and  yet 
prone  to  indulge  in  a  sort  of  coarse  imagery  and  lan 
guage."  He  speaks  of  Landor  as  having  a  coarsely 
defiant  nature,  as  one  who,  "  before  a  well-dressed  com 
pany,  plunges  his  fingers  in  a  cesspool,  as  if  to  expose 
the  whiteness  of  his  hands  and  the  jewels  of  his  rings." 
Before  his  first  journey  to  Europe,  Emerson  had  read 
the  Imaginary  Conversations  with  diligence  and  profit, 

1  In  the  Dial  for  October. 


LITERARY  JUDGMENTS.  221 

his  copy  showing  evidence  of  constant  perusal ;  yet  he 
said  in  The  Dial  that  Landor  had  written  no  good  book. 
In  his.  life  of  Landor,  Forster  says,  — 

"  When  the  American  writer  Emerson  had  made  the  book  his 
companion  for  more  than  twenty  years,  he  publicly  expressed  to 
the  writer  his  gratitude  for  having  given  him  a  resource  that  had 
never  failed  him  in  solitude.  He  had  but  to  recur  to  its  rich  and 
ample  page,  whereon  he  was  always  sure  to  find  free  and  sustained 
thought,  a  keen  and  precise  understanding,  an  affluent  and  ready 
memory  familiar  with  all  chosen  books,  an  industrious  observation 
in  every  department  of  life,  an  experience  to  which  it  might  seem 
that  nothing  had  occurred  in  vain,  honor  for  every  just  and  gener 
ous  sentiment,  and  a  scourge  like  that  of  Furies  for  every  oppressor, 
whether  public  or  private,  to  feel  how  dignified  was  that  perpetuid 
censor  in  his  curule  chair,  and  to  wish  to  thank  so  great  a  bene 
factor."1 

Goethe  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  members  of  the 
Transcendental  Club,  and  Emerson  shared  in  that  ad 
miration.  In  a  conversation,  in  more  recent  years,  he 
pronounced  Goethe  the  leading  mind  of  the  present 
century.  When  Grimm  writes  of  Goethe,  he  acknowl 
edges  his  debt  to  Emerson  for  the  point  of  view  from 
whence  to  correctly  judge  him.2  A  writer  3  of  some  dis 
crimination  has  said  that  the  mantle  of  Goethe  has  fall 
en  on  Emerson.  Without  doubt  Emerson  has  been 
affected  by  the  commanding  genius  and  personality  of 
Goethe ;  but  the  great  German  was  too  realistic,  too 
little  a  Puritan,  to  fully  receive  Emerson's  sympathy. 
His  criticisms  show  the  wide  space  between  them.  He 
accuses4  Goethe  of  differing  from  all  great  minds  in 
"  the  total  want  of  frankness."  "•  No  man  was  permit 
ted  to  call  Goethe  brother.  He  hid  himself,  and  worked 
always  to  astonish ;  which  is  an  egotism,  and  therefore 
little."  He  characterizes  Goethe  "as  the  poet  of  the 
actual,  not  of  the  ideal ;  the  poet  of  limitation,  not  of 
possibility  ;  of  this  world,  and  not  of  religion  and  hope  ; 
in  short,  the  poet  of  prose,  and  not  of  poetry."  Pie 
says  Goethe's  moral  perception  was  not  proportionate 
to  his  ot'her  powers,  and  so  he  left  the  world  as  he 

1  \Valter  Savage  Landor:  a  biography,  by  John  Forster,  p.  3G3. 

2  Life  and  Times  of  Goethe,  preface  to  American  translation. 

3  The  Rev.  Dr   Osgood.  4  j_n  tue 


222  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

found  it.  The  German  was  so  great  he  can  not  forgive 
him  for  not  being  greater,  and  thus  becoming  the  one 
sublime  revealer  of  divine  wisdom,  redeeming  us  from 
idolatries  and  their  legendary  luster.  Charmed  as  he 
is  by  Goethe's  genius,  he  yet  constantly  bemoans  that 
incapacity  which  kept  him  from  the  central  facts,  and 
from  becoming  the  great  poet  of  the  ideal.  He  can  not 
endure  Goethe's  realistic  mode  of  thought,  and  this  is 
the  source  of  all  his  criticisms.  So  he  says,  — 

"If  we  try  Goethe  by  the  ordinary  canons  of  criticism,  we 
should  say  that  his  thinking  is  of  great  altitude,  and  all  level,  — 
not  a  succession  of  summits,  but  a  high  Asiatic  table-land.  He 
has  an  eye  constant  to  the  fact  of  life,  and  that  never  pauses  in  its 
advance.  But  the  great  felicities,  the  miracles  of  poetry,  he  has 
never.  It  is  all  design  with  him,  just  thought  and  instructed 
expression,  analogies,  allusion,  illustration,  which  knowledge  and 
correct  thinking  supply;  but  of  Shakspere  and  the  transcendent 
muse,  no  syllable.  He  is  the  king  of  all  scholars ;  let  him  have 
the  praise  of  the  love  of  truth.  We  think,  when  we  contemplate 
the  stupendous  glory  of  the  world,  that  it  were  life  enough  for  one 
man  merely  to  lift  his  hands  and  cry  with  St.  Augustine,  'Wrangle 
who  pleases,  I  will  wonder.'  Well,  this  he  did.  Here  was  a  man, 
who,  in  the  feeling  that  the  thing  itself  was  so  admirable  as  to 
leave  all  comment  behind,  went  up  and  down  from  object  to 
object,  lifting  the  veil  from  every  one,  and  did  no  more.  1 1  is  are 
the  bright  and  terrible  eyes,  which  meet  the  modern  student  in 
every  sacred  chapel  of  thought,  in  every  public  enclosure." 

Emerson  does  not  think  it  a  mere  accident,  a  case  of 
color-blindness,  that  Goethe  had  not  a  moral  perception 
proportionate  to  his  other  powers.  It  was  "  a  cardinal 
fact  of  health  or  disease ;  since,  lacking  this,  he  failed 
in  the  high  sense  to  be  a  creator,  and  with  divine  en 
dowments  drops  by  irreversible  decree  into  the  com 
mon  history  of  genius.  He  was  content  to  fall  into  the 
track  of  vulgar  poets,  and  spend  on  common  aims  his 
splendid  endowments,  and  has  declined  the  office  prof 
fered  to  now  and  then  a  man  in  many  centuries  in  the 
power  of  his  genius,  —  of  a  redeemer  of  the  human 
mind.  He  has  written  better  than  other  poets,  only  as 
his  talent  was  subtler;  but  the  ambition  of  creation  he 
refused.  Life  for  him  is  prettier,  easier,  wiser,  decenter, 


LITERARY   JUDGMENTS.  223 

has  a  gem  or  two  more  on  its  robe ;  but  its  old  eternal 
burden  is  not  relieved;  no  drop  of  healthier  blood 
flows  yet  in  its  veins.  Let  him  pass.  Humanity  must 
wait  for  its  physician  still  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and 
confess,  as  this  man  goes  out,  that  they  have  served  it 
better,  who  assured  it,  out  of  the  innocent  hope  in  their 
hearts,  that  a  physician  will  come,  than  this  majestic 
artist,  with  all  the  treasuries  of  wit,  of  science,  and  of 
power  to  command." 

In  his  extemporaneous  address  to  the  students  of 
Howard  University,  he  said  of  Goethe :  — 

"  Since  Shakspere,  there  has  been  no  mind  of  equal  compass  to 
his.  There  is  the  wise  man.  He  has  the  largest  range  of  thought, 
the  most  catholic  mind ;  a  person  who  has  spoken  in  every  science, 
and  has  added  to  the  scientific  lore  of  other  students,  and  who 
represents  better  than  any  other  individual  the  progressive  mind 
of  the  present  age.  He  is  the  oracle  of  all  the  leading  students  in 
every  nation  at  this  time."  He  said  Faust  is  the  book  by  which 
Goethe  is  best  known.  "  It  is  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  books 
that  I  can  read.  While  I  consider  Shakspere's  Hamlet  a  great  and 
noble  work,  Goethe's  Faust  is  to  me  a  very  painful  wrork.  And 
yet  that  stands  with  society  generally  as  his  leading  work.  It 
represents  the  modern  mind,  and  that  is  what  he  aimed  at ;  but  it 
doss  not  represent  the  Eternal  Mind."  The  maxims  and  rules  of 
life  written  for  Schiller's  Horen  "  are  now  gathered  into  a  book 
that  I  think  is  one  of  the  most  important  we  possess." 

An  intimate  friendship  and  sympathy  with  Carlyle 
has  probably  drawn  him  closer  to  that  writer  than  to 
any  other.  Here,  as  before,  however,  the  charge  of 
imitation  is  utterly  unmeaning  and  beside  the  mark. 
Such  a  charge  might  have  had  a  general  meaning  in 
the  early  days  of  Emerson's  career ;  but  he  has  proven 
himself  too  much  a  master,  too  much  inclined  to  do  his 
own  thinking,  to  redeem  such  a  statement  now  from 
being  entirely  valueless.  He  has  found  the  chief 
characteristic  of  Carlyle  in  his  broad  humanity  and  in 
the  altitude  of  his  thought. 

"  He  has  the  dignity  of  a  man  of  letters  who  knows  what 
belongs  to  him,  and  never  deviates  from  his  sphere;  a  continuer 
of  the  great  line  of  scholars,  and  sustains  their  office  in  the  highest 
credit  and  honor.  If  the  good  Heaven  have  any  word  to  impart  to 


224  EALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

this  unworthy  generation,  here  is  one  scribe  qualified  arid  clothed 
for  its  occasion.  One  excellence  he  has  in  an  age  of  mammon 
and  criticism,  that  he  never  suffers  the  eye  of  his  wonder  to  close. 
Let  who  will  be  the  dupe  of  trifles ;  he  can  not  keep  his  eyes  oil 
from  the  gracious  Infinite  which  embosoms  us.  As  a  literary  artist 
he  has  great  merits,  beginning  with  the  main  one,  that  tie  never 
wrote  a  dull  line."  l 

Emerson  has  also  Ipeen  an  ardent  admirer  of  Words 
worth,  early  read  his  poems  with  the  keenest  interest, 
imbibed  his  ideas  of  nature  and  the  soul,  and  has  drunk 
deep  at  the  fountain  of  his  thought.  As  in  the  case  of 
Carlyle,  he  has  accepted  Wordsworth's  philosophy,  and 
made  many  of  its  ideas  vital  elements  in  his  own.  In 
the  pages  of  The  Dial  he  says  of  Wordsworth,  "  More 
than  any  poet  his  success  has  been  not  his  own,  but 
that  of  the  idea  he  shared  with  his  coevals,  and  which 
lie  has  rarely  succeeded  in  expressing.  The  Excursion 
awakened  in  every  lover  of  nature  the  right  feeling. 
We  saw  stars  shine,  we  felt  the  awe  of  mountains,  we 
heard  the  rustle  of  the  wind  in  the  grass,  and  knew 
again  the  ineffable  secret  of  solitude.  It  was  a  great 
joy.  It  was  nearer  to  nature  than  any  thing  we  had 
before."  Yet  it  was  not  a  great  poem  ;  and,  excepting 
a  few  strains,  it  was  dull.  "  It  was  the  human  soul  in 
these  last  ages  striving  jfor  a  just  publication  of  itself. 
Add  to  this,  however,  the  great  praise  of  Wordsworth, 
that  more  than  any  other  contemporary  bard  he  is  per 
vaded  with  a  reverence  of  somewhat  higher  than  con 
scious  thought.  There  is  in  him  that  property  common 
to  all  great  poets,  a  wisdom  of  humanity,  which  is 
superior  to  any  talents  they  exert."  Again,  he  says 
Wordsworth  "  has  the  merit  of  just  moral  perception, 
but  not  that  of  deft  poetic  execution."  2  Milton  would 
"  curl  his  lip  at  such-  slipshod  newspaper  style,"  and 
many  of  his  poems  might  all  be  improvised. 

"Yet  Wordsworth,  though  satisfied  if  he  can  suggest  to  a 
sympathetic  mind  his  own  mood,  and  though  setting  a  private  and 
exaggerated  value  on  his  compositions,  though  confounding  ula 

i  The  Dial. 

-  Europe  and  European  Books,  in  The  Dial  for  April,  1843. 


LITERARY   JUDGMENTS.  225 

accidental  with  the  universal  consciousness,  and  taking  the  public 
to  task  for  not  admiring  his  poetry,  —  is  really  a  master  of  the 
English  language ;  and  his  poems  evince  a  power  of  diction  that  is 
no  more  rivaled  by  his  contemporaries,  than  is  his  poetic  insight. 
But  the  capital  merit  of  Wordsworth  is,  that  he  has  done  mo^e 
for  the  sanity  of  this  generation  than  any  other  writer.  Early  in 
life,  at  a  crisis  in  his  private  affairs,  he  made  his  election  between 
wealth  and  a  position  in  the  world,  and  the  inward  promptings  of 
his  heavenly  genius  ;  he  took  his  part ;  he  accepted  the  call  to  be  a 
poet,  and  sat  down,  far  from  cities,  with  coarse  clothing  and  plain 
fare,  to  obey  the  heavenly  vision.  The  choice  he  had  made  in  his 
will,  manifested  itself  in  every  line  to  be  real." 

To  Landor  Emerson  is  slightly  indebted  for  his  style, 
sharp,  compacted,  energetic,  —  for  so  much  of  it  as  is 
not  fully  and  characteristically  his  own.  Yet  he  has 
none  of  Lander's  coarseness,  none  of  his  drowsiness, 
and  none  of  his  dullness  of  tone.  Carlyle  has  an 
impetus  and  an  incessant  storm  of  power,  sweeping, 
imperious,  awful,  that  Emerson  has  not.  The  style  of 
Carlyle  is  that  of  a  great  body  of  cavalry  rushing 
impetuous  across  an  open  field  to  crush  down  an 
enemy,  or  that  of  an  incessant  roar  of  reverberating 
thunder  across  the  heavens.  On  the  other  hand, 
Emerson's  may  be  compared  to  quick  flash  after  flash 
of  lightning,  to  constant  sharp  electric  discharges. 
Carlyle  may  be  regarded  as  somewhat  his  inspirer  in 
the  field  of  ethics,  in  hatred  of  every  modern  sin,  in 
the  application  of  the  ethical  test  to  every  fact  of  life 
and  nature,  and  of  his  faith  in  the  infinite.  To  Goethe 
he  owes  a  debt  for  his  appreciation  of  aesthetic  power, 
and  for  his  ingrafting  the  sense  of  beauty  on  the  Puri 
tan  austerity.  Appreciation  of  poetic  form  he  may 
be  also  in  debt  for  to  the  German,  as  well  as  for  his 
eager:  sympathy  with  nature,  and  his  quick,  susceptible 
sympathy  with  all  the  forms  of  human  existence.  In 
thus  being  tutored  of  literary  masters,  in  many  ways 
greatly  unlike  each  other,  he  has  gathered  a  wider 
range  of^power  than  he  would  otherwise  have  pos 
sessed,  and  he  has  chosen  from  each  what  was  most 
excellent.  He  has  not  the  poetic  power  of  Goethe,  or 
Carlyle's  stormy  inspiration  ;  but  there  is  a  poise  and  a 


226  EALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

mental  balance  about  his  writings  not  to  be  found  in 
either  of  the  others.  Their  excesses  he  lacks,  is  more 
of  a  Puritan,  mere  of  a  prophet.  He  has  not  Goethe's 
excessive  appreciation  of  life  and  beauty,  and  sensitive 
ness  to  their  presence  ;  but  he  has  a  moral  power,  a 
self-mastery,  a  sublime  ethical  expression,  Goethe  could 
not  possibly  have  attained.  He  has  not  Carlyle's  inspir 
ing  power  ;  he  does  not  sweep  up  the  heart  of  the  reader 
into  invisible  realms  of  truth,  so  that  he  forgets .  earth 
and  time  ;  but  he  walks  the  solid  earth,  mindful  ever  of 
its  commonest  duties;  yet  with  his  head  in  the  high 
heavens,  communing  with  celestial  wonders.  He  sur 
passes  all  the  others  in  his  power  to  read  the  common 
daily  life  of  men,  and  the  facts  of  this  material  world,  in 
the  language  of  the  celestial  regions,  finding  but  one 
fact  and  one  law  through  all  worlds.  So  fine  a  judge 
of  literary  qualities  as  Lowell l  finds  that  Emerson  has 
improved, on  his  masters. 

"Both  Carlyle  and  Emerson  were  disciples  of  Goethe,  but 
Emerson  in  a  far  truer  sense ;  and  while  the  one,  from  his  bias 
towards  the  eccentric,  has  degenerated  more  and  more  into  man 
nerism,  the  other  has  clarified  steadily  towards  perfection  of  style, 
exquisite  fineness  of  material,  unobtrusive  lowness  of  tone  and 
simplicity  of  fashion,  the  most  high-bred  garb  of  expression. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  his  thought,  nothing  can  be  finer  than 
the  delicious  limpidness  of  his  phrase.  If  it  was  ever  questionable 
whether  democracy  could  develop  a  gentleman,  the  problem  has 
been  affirmatively  solved  at  last.  Carlyle,  in  his  cynicism  and 
admiration  of  force  in  and  for  itself,  has  become  at  last  positively 
inhuman  ;  Emerson,  reverencing  strength,  seeking  the  highest  out 
come  of  the  individual,  has  found  that  society  and  politics  are  also 
main  elements  in  the  attainment  of  the  desired  end,  and  has  drawn 
steadily  man  ward  and  worklward." 

In  Goethe  the  sense  of  beauty  was  supreme,  in 
Carlyle  the  love  of  strength  has  been  predominant , 
but  in  Emerson  all  powers  and  faculties  have  been  held 
in  reverence  only  as  aids  to  character.  His  writings 
have  been  conceived  and  executed,  only  as  helps  to 
human  life  and  aids  to  moral  excellence.  In  this  ligln 
every  page  of  his  must  be  regarded.  He  looks  on 

i  Essay  ou  Thoreau,  in  My  Study  Windows. 


LITERARY   JUDGMENTS.  227 

events,  he  reads  nature,  be  judges  books,  as  belps  to 
human  development.  To  him  a  book  is  great  and 
precious,  only  in  proportion  to  its  ethical,  inspiring,  and 
human  po.wer,  its  capacity  to  touch  and  mold  man  to 
finer  issues  of  conduct  and  feeling. 


Emerson  judges  of  books  by  the  meas-ure  of  their 
spiritual  qualities.  He  does  not  possess  a  critical  or  a 
purely  literary  judgment,  and  this  standard  he  does  not 
apply  to  the  authors  he  admires.  He  loves  a  book  be 
cause  of  its  affinity  to  his  own  mind ;  for  its  imagina 
tive,  intuitional,  and  transcendental  qualities.  He  often 
judges  of  books  very  much  as  we  would  expect  Bunyan, 
Fox,  or  Woolman  to  judge  of  them,  by  certain  religious 
affinities  to  his  own  mind.  Yet  he  has  been  almost 
always  correct  in  his  judgments,  finding  the  best  books 
in  all  literatures,  and  admiring  them  for  their  most  gen 
uine  qualities.  He  has  had  a  better,  a  more  correct, 
taste  for  books  of  the  past,  however,  than  for  those  of 
his  own  day.  While  seldom  erring  about  an  old  book, 
his  generous  appreciation,  his  earnest  sympathy,  has  led 
him  sometimes  to  find  in  contemporary  books  merits 
they  do  not  really  contain.  This  is  shown  in  his  extrav 
agant  praise,  in  English  Traits,  of  that  very  dull  writer 
Wilkinson,  in  whose  mind,  he  says,  is  "  a  long  Atlantic 
roll  not  known  except  in  deepest  waters."  This  praise 

frew  entirely  out  of  his  sympathy  with  the  ideas  Wil- 
inson   attempted  to  present.     When  Landor  praised 
that  friend  he  loved  so  well,  Emerson  was  " pestered" 
by  it,  and  exclaimed,  "  But  who  is  Southey  ?  "  1     He  has 
called  Herbert   Spencer  a  stock-writer,  does   not   like 

1  The  professional  critics,  however,  are  not  always  an  improvement 
on  Emerson;  as  witness  this  from  Swinburne's  Study  of  Shakspere,  p. 
15LJ:  "  '  A  democracy  such  as  yours  in  America  is  my  abhorrence,'  wrote 
Landor  onee  to  an  impudent  and  foul-mouthed  Yankee  philosophaster 
who  had  intruded  himself  on  that  great  man's  privacy  in  order  to  have 
the  privilege  of  informing  the  readers  of  a  pitiful  pamphlet  on  England 
that  Landor  had  '  pestered  him  with  Southey; '  an  impertinence,  I  may 
add,  which  Mr.  Landor  at  once  rebuked  with  the  sharpest  contempt, 
and  chastised  with  the  haughtiest  courtesy." 


228  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

Charles  Kingsley,  but  has  a  great  admiration  for  Readers 
Christie  Johnstone.  He  highly  appreciates  the  writings 
of  Ruskin,  regards  Lowell's  Biglow  Papers  as  his  best 
work,  and  calls  Bacon's  Essays  "  a  little  bible  of  earthly 
wisd;  m."  These  opinions  are  quite  sufficient  to  show 
that  Emerson  does  not  value  a  book  for  its  literary  mer 
its,  but  for  its  attitude  toward  nature,  or  for  its  reli 
gious  and  philosophical  conceptions.  He  tests  books  by 
his  poetical  and  moral  sensibility,  rather  than  by  the 
ordinary  canons  of  criticism.  He  loves  the  idealists,  and 
will  not  think  the  best  of  any  others.  Indeed,  an  ad 
mixture  of  mysticism  suits  him  well;  while  the  author 
who  can  read  every  material  fact  as  a  law  of  the  spirit 
ual  world  is  sure  of  his  praise.  Yet  he  is  not  merely  a 
mystic  himself, — far  from  it,  —  for  lie  thinks  u  the  re 
straining  grace  of  common  sense  is  the  mark  of  all  valid 
minds.'  1  He  finds  in  the  imagination  a  real  guide  to 
the  secrets  of  life,  and  he  prizes  no  writer  from  whom 
this  gift  is  absent ;  but  he  would  have  sense  and  reason 
accompany  even  the  imagination. 

His  literary  judgments  are  full  of  interest  as  interpret 
ing  his  own  mind  and  character,  as  showing  his  steady 
faith  in  the  ideal  element  in  literature.  He  is  quick  to' 
detect  the  least  swerving  from  the  spiritual  basis  of 
thought,  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  rejects  the 
least  utilitarianism  of  purpose.  The  fame  of  Words 
worth  lie  regards  as  a  leading  fact  in  modern  literature. 
He  sees  in  Byron  a  perverted  will ;  while  he  thinks 
Shelley  is  never  a  poet,  lacking  in  the  original  fire  of 
the  bard. 

He  early  discerned  the  genius  of  Tennyson,  and  in 
1843  wrote  of  "the  elegance,  the  wit,  and  subtlety  <f 
this  writer,  his  fancy,  his  power  of  language,  his  metri 
cal  skill,  his  independence  on  any  living  masters,  his 
peculiar  topics,  his  taste  for  the  costly  and  gorgeous."  2 
He  "wants  rude  truth,  however;  he  is  tco  fine;"  but 
"  it  is  long  since  we  have  had  as  good  a  lyrist ;  it  will 
be  long  before  we  have  his  superior."  Speaking  of  the 

1  Letters  and  Social  Aims.  2  The  Dial  for  April. 


LITERARY   JUDGMENTS.  229 

delicacies  and  splendors  of  Tennyson's  style,  lie  says, 
"  The  best  songs  in  English  poetry  are  by  that  heavy, 
hard,  pedantic  poet,  Ben  Jonson.  Jonson  is  rude,  and 
only  on  rare  occasions  gay.  Tennyson  is  always  fine, 
but  Jon  son's  beauty  is  more  grateful  than  Tennyson's. 
It  is  the  natural,  manly  grace  of  a  robust  workman." 

He  says  that  Scott,  more  than  any  other  modern 
writer,  "has  inspired  his  readers  with  affection  to  his 
own  personality ;  "  l  that,  in  the  number  and  variety  of 
his  characters,  he  approaches  Shakspere.  All  his  char 
acters  are  portrayed  with  equal  skill ;  and  there  is  re 
markable  strength  and  success  in  every  figure  of  his 
crowded  company. 

Outside  of  the  world's  religious  teachers  he  places 
Shakspere  as  the  one  unparalleled  mind,  and  says  that  of 
works  depending  purely  upon  their  intrinsic  excellence, 
his  are  first.2 

"  No  nation  has  produced  any  thirty  like  his  equal.  There  is  no 
quality  in  the  human  mind,  there  is  no  class  of  topics,  there  is 
no  region  of  thought,  in  which  he  has  not  soared  or  descended, 
and  none  in  which  he  has  not  said  the  commanding  word.  All 
men  are  impressed,  in  proportion  to  their  own  advancement  in 
thought,  by  the  genius  of  Shakspere ;  and  the  greatest  mind  values 
him  the  most.  It  is  wonderful  that  ib  lui.;  taken  ages  to  esteem 
him.  We  find  with  wonder  that  he  was  not  appreciated  in  his 
own  time ;  that  you  can  hardly  find  any  contemporary  who  did 
him  any  justice.  Still,  his  fame  and  the  influence  of  his  genius 
have  risen  with  the  progress  of  time.  As  there  has  been  oppor 
tunity  to  compare  him  with  other  poets  and  writers,  his  superiority 
has  been  felt,  and  never  so  much  as  at  this  day.  In  reading  Shak 
spere  you  will  find  yourself  armed  for  the  law,  the  divinity,  and  for 
commerce  with  men." 

One  of  his  earliest  biographical  lectures  was  on  Mil 
ton,  of  whom  he  wrote  with  discrimination,  and  with 
strong  admiration  of  his  prose.3  He  calls  Comus  "the 
loftiest  song  in  the  praise  of  chastity  that  is  in  any 
language."  Of  Milton's  genius  he  said,  — 

1  Address  "before  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society  on  the  cen 
tennial  anniversary  of  Scott's  birthday,  Aug.  15,  1871,  printed  in  the 
Transactions  of  the  society  for  that  year. 

2  Address  at  Howard  University. 

a  Printed  in  the  North  American  Review  for  JiTly,  1838,  and  reprinted 
in  Essays  from  the  North  American  Review,  1879. 


230  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

"  It  is  the  prerogative  of  this  great  man  to  stand  at  this  hour 
foremost  of  all  men  in  literary  history,  and  so  (shall  we  not  say  ?) 
of  all  men,  in  the  power  to  inspire.  Virtue  goes  out  of  him  into 
others.  Leaving  out  of  view  the  pretensions  of  our  contemporaries 
(always  an  incalculable  influence),  we  think  no  man  can  be  named 
whose  mind  still  acts  on  the  cultivated  intellect  of  England  and 
America  with  an  energy  comparable  to  that  of  Milton.  As  a  poet, 
Shakspere  undoubtedly  transcends  and  far  surpasses .  him  in  his 
popularity  with  foreign  nations  ;  but  Shakspere  is  a  voice  merely ; 
who  and  what  he  was  that  sang,  that  sings,  we  know  not.  Milton 
stands  erect,  commanding,  still  visible  as  a  man  among  men,  and 
reads  the  laws  of  the  moral  sentiment  to  the  new-born  race. 
There  is  something  pleasing  in  the  affection  with  which  we  can 
regard  a  man  who  died  a  hundred  and  sixty  years  ago  in  the  other 
hemisphere,  who,  in  respect  to  personal  relations,  is  to  us  as  the 
wind,  yet  by  an  influence  purely  personal  makes  us  jealous  for  his 
fame  as  for  that  of  a  near  friend.  He  is  identified  in  the  mind 
with  all  select  and  holy  images,  with  the  supreme  interests  of  the 
human  race.  If  hereby  we  attain  any  more  precision,  we  proceed 
to  say  that  we  think  no  man  in  these  later  ages,  and  few  men  ever, 
possessed  so  great  a  conception  of  the  manly  character.  Better 
than  any  other  l>e  has  discharged  the  office  ef  every  great  man, 
namely,  to  raise  the  idea  of  man  in  the  minds,  of  his  contem 
poraries  and  of  posterity, — to  draw  after  nature' a  life  of  man, 
exhibiting  such  a  composition  of  grace,  of  strength,  and  of  virtue, 
as  poet  had  not  described  nor  hero  lived.  Human  nature  in  these 
ages  is  indebted  to  him-  for  its  best  portrait.  Many  philosophers 
in  England,  France,  and  Germany  have  formally  dedicated  their 
study  to  this  problem ;  and  we  think  it  impossible  to  recall  one  in 
those  countries  who  communicates  the  same  vibration  of  hope,  of 
self-reverence,  of  piety,  of  delight,  in  beauty,  which  the  name  of 
Milton  awakens.  The  idea  of  a  purer  existence  than  any  he  saw 
around  him,  to  be  realized  in  the  life  and  conversation  of  men, 
ijispired  every  act  and  every  writing  of  John  Milton." 

He  has  spoken  of  Burns  with  enthusiasm,  and  with 
a  fine  appreciation  of  the  genuine  merits  of  this  poet 
of  common  life.  He  regards  Burns  .as  the  poet  of  the 
middle  class,  and  of  that  great  progressive,  modern 
movement,  which,  "not  in  governments,  so  much  as  in 
education  and  in  social  order,  has  changed  the  face  of 
the  world." 

"  Not  Latimer,  not  Luther,  struck  more  telling  blows  against 
false  theology  than  did  this  brave  singer.  The  Confession  of 
Augsberg,  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  the  French  Rights  of 
Man,  and  the  Marseillaise,  are  not  more  weighty  documents,  in  the 
history  of  freedom,  than  the  songs  of  Burns.  His  satire  has  lost 


LTTERAEY   JUDGMENTS.  23! 

none  of  its  edge.  His  musical  arrows  yet  sing  through  the  air. 
He  is  so  substantially  a  reformer,  that  I  find  his  great  plain  sense 
in  close  chain  with  the  greatest  masters,  —  llabelais,  Shakspere  in 
comedy,  Cervantes,  Butler,  and  Burns. 

"  Yet  how  true  a  poet  he  is  !  And  the  poet,  too,  of  poor  men, 
of  gray  hodden,  and  the  guernsey  coat,  and  the  blouse.  He  has 
given  voice  to  all  the  experiences  of  common  life  ;  he  has  endeared 
the  farmhouse  and  cottage,  patches  and  poverty,  beans  and  barley; 
ale,  the  poor  man's  wine ;  hardship,  the  fear  of  debt,  the  dear 
society  of  weans  and  wife,  of  brothers  and  sisters,  proud  of  each 
other,  knowing  so  few,  and  finding  amends  for  want  and  obscurity 
in  books  and  thought.  And  as'he  was  thus  the  poet  of  the  poor, 
anxious,  cheerful,  working  humanity,  he  had  the  language  of  low 
life.  He  grew  up  in  a  rural  district,  speaking  a  patois  unintel 
ligible  to  all  but  natives  ;  and  he  has  made  that  lowland  Scotch  a 
Doric  dialect  of  fame.  It  is  the  only  example  in  history  of  a  lan 
guage  made  classic  by  the  genius  of  a  single  man.  He  had  that 
secret  of  genius  to  draw  from  the  bottom  of  society  the  strength 
of  its  speech,  and  astonish  the  ears  of  the  polite  with  these  artless 
words,  better  than  art,  and  filtered  of  all  offense  by  his  beauty."  l 


No  man  could  have  dealt  more  generously  with  his 
co-workers  in  the  fields  of  American  literature  than 
Emerson  has  done.  His  own  ideals  have  been  high ; 
but  he  has  been  very  tender  of  genius,  very  generous 
with  merit,  and  kindly  sympathetic  with  all  who  have 
followed  the  same  paths  with  himself.  This  generosity 
has  sometimes  blinded  him  to  the  real  merits  of  those 
who  claimed  his  attention,  but  it  has  also  helped  him  to 
do  much  for  American  literature.  As  Lessing  raised 
his  voice  against  imitation  of  the  French,  and  called  for 
a  genuine  German  literature,  founded  on  national  senti 
ment,  so  has  Emerson  protested  against  foreign  models 
and  in  favor  of  an  American  literature.  His  influence 
has  been  as  healthful  and  powerful  as  was  Lessing's, 
creating  in  this  way,  as  Lessing  did,  a  national  litera 
ture.  If  Emerson's  influence  has  not  sufficed  to  create 
a  literature  as  great  as  that  which  followed  the  example 
set  by  Lessing,  it  may  be  said  that  not  nearly  so  many 
years  have  elapsed  since  it  began  to  be  felt.  If  not  so 

1  Address  at  the  BUTDS  Festival  in  Boston,  Jan.  25,  1859,  on  Burns's 
one  hundredth  birthday. 


232  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

great  in  its  effects,  the  influence  has  been  of  the  same 
nature,  and  founded  on  the  same  ideas  about  the  im 
portance  of  original  and  independent  writing. 

His  sympathy  with  genius  ma}  be  seen  in  the  case  of 
Thoreau,  who  has  been  valued  by  him  at  his  full  height, 
and  praised  with  unstinted  appreciation.  Not  only  in 
the  address  immediately  following  Thsreau's  death,  but 
elsewhere,  he  has  expressed  his  love  of  that  rare  spirit. 
In  his  address  at  the  dedication  of  the  Concord  Free 
Library  he  protested  that  Thoreau  had  not  yet  been 
highly  enough  appreciated  by  the  public.  He  then 
said,  — 

"  Henry  Thoreau  we  all  remember  as  a  man  of  genius,  and  of 
marked  character,  known  to  our  farmers  as  the  most  skillful  of  sur 
veyors,  and  indeed  better  acquainted  with  their  forests  and 
meadows  than  themselves,  but  more  widely  known  as  the  writer  of 
some  of  the  best  books  which  have  been  written  in  this  country, 
and  which,  I  am  persuaded,  have  not  yet  gathered  half  their  fame. 
He,  too,  was  an  excellent  reader.  No  man  could  have  rejoiced 
more  than  he  in  the  event  of  this  day." 

In  1852  Theodore  Parker  dedicated  his  Ten  Sermons 
of  Religion  to  Emerson,  "  with  admiration  for  his  genius, 
and  with  kindly  affection  for  what  in  him  is  far  nobler 
than  genius."  On  receipt  of  the  book,  Emerson  wrote 
the  author  this  appreciative  letter :  — 

I'  I  read  the  largest  part  of  it  with  good  heed.  I  find  in  it  all  the 
traits  which  are  making  your  discourses  material  to  the  history  of 
Massachusetts,  —  the  realism,  the  power  of  local  and  homely  illustra 
tion,  the  courage  and  vigor  of  treat: rient,  arid  the  masterly  sarcasm, 
—  now  naked,  now  veiled,  —  and  I  think  with  a  marked  growth  in 
power  and  coacervation  —  shall  I  say? — of  statement.  To  be 
sure,  f  am  in  this  moment  thinking  of  speeches  out  of  this  book 
a.-  well  as  those  in  it.  Well,  you  may  give  the  times  to  come  the 
means  of  knowing  how  the  lamp  was  fed,  which  they  are  to  thank 
you  that  they  find  burning.  And  though  I  see  you  are  too  good- 
11  ;i lured  by  half  in  your  praise  of  your  contemporaries,  you  will 
iieilher  deceive  us  nor  posterity,  nor  —  forgive  me  —  yourself,  any 
more  in  this  graceful  air  of  laying  on  others  your  own  untransfer 
able  laurels. 

"  We  shall  all  thank  the  right  soldier,  whom  God  gave  strength 
and  will  to  fight  for  him  the  battle  of  the  day."  * 

1  Weiss's  Life  of  Parker,  vol.  ii.  p.  45. 


LITERARY   JUDGMENTS.  233 

When  Parker's  society  paid  tribute  to  his  memory 
after  his  death,  Emerson  gave  an  address  full  of  love 
and  sympathy  for  his  heroic  friend.  "  It  is  plain  to 
me,  he  said,  that  he  has  achieved  an  historic  immor 
tality  here ;  that  he  has  so  woven  himself  in  these  few 
years  into  the  history  of  Boston,  that  he  can  never  be 
left  out  of  your  annals."  "  His  commanding  merit  as  a 
reformer  is  this,  that  he  insisted  beyond  all  men  in  pul 
pits,  —  I  can  not  think  of  one  rival,  —  that  the  essence 
of  Christianity  is  its  practical  morals."  In  this  opinion 
Emerson  entirely  sympathized  with  him ;  and  he  must 
have  been  drawn  to  Parker  on  this  very  account,  and 
charmed  with  his  perfect  loyalty  to  manhood  and  right. 

Emerson's  generous  appreciation  of  Walt  Whitman 
has  been  the  cause  of  much  comment ;  and  it  is  under 
stood  he  has  somewhat  retreated  from  his  first  ardent 
praise,  and  been  mortified  that  that  praise  should  have 
been  made  public.  In  1855  he  wrote  Whitman  the 
following  letter :  — 

"  I  am  not  blind  to  the  worth  of  the  wonderful  gift  of  Leaves  of 
Grass.  I  find  it  the  most  extraordinary  piece  of  wit  and  wisdom 
that  America  has  yet  contributed.  I  am  very  happy  in  reading  it, 
as  great  power  makes  us  happy.  It  meets  the  demand  I  am  always 
making  of  what  seemed  the  sterile  and  stingy  nature,  as  if  too  much 
handiwork,  or  too  much  lymph  in  the  temperament,  were  making 
our  Western  wits  fat  and  mean. 

"  I  give  you  joy  of  your  free  and  brave  thought.  I  have  great 
joy  in  it.  I  find  incomparable  things  said  incomparably  well,  as 
they  must  be.  I  find  the  courage  of  treatment  which  so  delights 
us,  and  which  large  perception  only  can  inspire. 

"  I  greet  you  at  the  beginning  of  a  great  career,  which  yet  must 
have  had  a  long  foreground  somewhere,  for  such  a  start.  I  rubbed 
my  eyes  a  little,  to  see  if  this  sunbeam  were  no  illusion ;  but  the 
solid  sense  of  the  book  is  a  sober  certainty.  It  has  the  best  merits, 
namely,  of  fortifying  and  encouraging. 

"  I  did  not  know  until  I  last  night  saw  the  book  advertised  in  a 
newspaper  that  I  could  trust  the  name  as  real  and  available  for 
a  post-office.  I  wish  to  see  my  benefactor,  and  have  felt  much  like 
striking  my  tasks  and  visiting  New  York  to  pay  you  my  respects." 

On  receipt  of  this  letter  Whitman  put  these  words 
on  the  cover  of  his  Leaves  of  Grass:  "I  greet  you  at 
the  beginning  of  a  great  career."  This  use  of  a  private 


234  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

letter,  and  parading  of  his  own  praise,  together  with 
Whitman's  excessive  sensuousness  of  expression,  un 
doubtedly  abated  Emerson's  admiration.  He  has  said 
that  Whitman's  first  poems  were  much  better  than  the 
later.  The  truth  of  this  opinion  may  be  doubted,  how 
ever;  for  there  is  none  of  that  coarse  sensuality  in  the 
later  poems  which  characterized  the  ea:  lier,  and  there 
is  an  immense  gain  in  depth  of  spiritual  power.  Some 
of  these  more  recent  poems  have  a  remarkable  power, 
and  are  unsurpassed  in  the  intensity  and  sweep  of  their 
expression.  But  he  is  very  unequal,  and  has  printed  in 
his  books  a  great  amount  of  rubbish.  There  is  much 
in  Whitman  which  Emerson  must  admire,  and  much 
which  must  be  repugnant  to  his  correct  and  puritanic 
taste,  as  well  as  to  his  exacting  moral  perceptions. 
Though  there  is  not  a  line  in  Whitman  which  is  neces 
sarily  immoral,  there  is  a  quite  unnecessary  plainness 
of  speech,  and  an  open  fleshliness,  that  have  made  him 
repugnant  to  many.  Doubtless  Emerson's  praise  was 
sincere,  but  the  new  poetry  was  not  of  that  kind  with 
which  he  finds  himself  in  fullest  sympathy. 

In  the  first  volume  of  The  Dial,  Emerson  introduced 
to  the  public  the  poetry  of  William  Ellery  Channing, 
with  words  of  sympathetic  praise.1  Channing  had  not 
yet  printed  any  thing,  Emerson's  numerous  selections 
from  his  manuscripts  being  the  first  to  appear.  He 
said  of  these  poems,  — 

"  Our  first  feeling  on  reading  them  was  a  lively  joy.  So,  then, 
the  Muse  is  .neither  dead  nor  dumb,  but  has  found  a  voice  in  these 
cold  Cisatlantic  states.  Here  is  poetry  which  asks  no  aid  of  mag 
nitude  or  number,  of  blood  or  crime,  but  finds  theater  enough  in 
the  first  field  or  brookside,  breadth  and  depth  enough  in  the  flow 
of  its  own  thought.  Here  is  self-repose,  which  to  our  mind  is 
stabler  than  the  Pyramids ;  here  is  self-respect,  which  leads  a  man 
to  date  from  his  heart  more  proudly  than  from  Home.  Here  is 
love  which  sees  through  surface,  and  adores  the  gentle  nature  and 
not  costume.  Here  is  religion,  which  is  not  of  the  church  of 
England,  nor  of  the  church  of  Boston.  Here  is  the  good,  wise 
heart,  which  sees  that  the  end  of  culture  is  strength  and  cheerful 
ness.  In  an  age,  too,  which  tends  with  so  strong  an  inclination  to 

1  New  Poetry,  in  the  second  number. 


LITERARY  JUDGMENTS.  235 

the  philosophical  muse,  here  is  poetry  more  intellectual  than  any 
American  verses  we  have  yet  seen,  distinguished  from  all  compe 
tition  by  two  merits,  —  the  fineness  of  perception ;  and  the  poet's 
trust  in  his  own  genius  to  that  degree,  that  there  is  an  absence  of 
all  conventional  imagery,  and  a  bold  use  of  that  which  the 
moment's  mood  had  made  sacred  to  him,  quite  careless  that  it 
might  be  sacred  to  no  other,  and  might  even  be  slightly  ludicrous 
to  the  first  reader." 

His  name  also  served  to  bring  before  the  public 
Channing's  Wanderer,  a  poem  mainly  characterized 
by  its  appreciation  of  nature  and  by  its  biographic 
accounts  of  Emerson  and  Thoreau.  In  the  preface  to 
that  poem  he  says,  "  there  is  new  matter  and  new  spirit 
in  this  writing."  "  These  poems  are  genuinely  original, 
with  a  simplicity  of  plan  which  allows  the  writer  to 
leave  out  all  the  prose  of  artificial  transitions."  "  His 
poems  have  to  me  and  others  an  exceptional  value  for 
this  reason,  —  we  have  not  been  considered  in  their 
composition,  but  either  defied  or  forgotten,  and  there 
fore  consult  them  securely  as  photographs." 


236  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 


XVII. 

POETKY. 

HPHEODORE  PARKER  once  said  that  Emerson  is 
-L  a  poet  lacking  the  accomplishment  of  verse.  His 
poems  lack  in  that  smooth,  polished,  well-trimmed,  and 
proportioned  flow  of  words  which  characterizes  so  much 
of  the  poetry  of  the  present  time.  As  a  poet  he  is  simple, 
natural,  and  original ;  but  giving  less  heed  to  form  than 
to  substance,  caring  more  for  the  inward  beauty  than 
for  the  clothing  of  his  muse.  He  has  been  too  original, 
too  true  and  just  to  his  own  genius,  to  copy  from  any 
of  the  poetical  models  in  fashion  during  the  century. 
They  are  too  diffuse,  gorgeous,  and  strained,  too  much 
concerned  for  outward  beauty  and  mere  melody  of  form, 
to  please  him ;  and  the  real  place  he  occupies  is  with 
Milton,  Herbert,  Mar  veil,  and  the  Elizabethan  poets. 
His  love  for  those  pcets  shows  his  natural  affiliation 
with  them;  there  he  has  found  his  models;  and  his 
stoic  economy  of  words,  purity  of  style,  and  simplicity 
of  thought,  all  remind  us  of  those  noble  singers.  His 
moral  tone,  so  lofty,  so  pure,  recalls  their  puritanic 
sympathies.  He  is  thoroughly  a  moral  poet ;  never  loves 
beauty  merely  for  its  own  sake.  He  has  the  quiet  and 
earnest  manner  of  all  great  moral  poets,  the  steady  sense 
of  the  value  of  life,  and  the  constant  regard  to  its  well- 
ordering,  which  the  word-flourish,  and  lively  color,  and 
dilletanteism,  of  much  of  the  present  poetry  make  im 
possible. 

He  is  an  introspective  poet,  with  great  power  of  giving 
expression  to  some  of  the  moods  and  tendencies  of  the 
human  mind.  He  deals  with  the  riddles  <;f  being  in  a 
lofty  spiiit.  The  dark  problems  of  life  which  concern 
every  soul,  and  the  solution  of  which  forms  the  eras  of 


POETRY.  237 

human  thought,  he  brings  into  his  poems  with  rare 
power,  and  with  a  skill  few  possess.  He  thus  becomes 
a  true  interpreter  of  human  motives.  His  muse  turns 
wholly  inward  in  some  of  his  poems ;  and  the  great  out 
ward  world,  at  other  times  so  dear,  is  quite  forgotten. 
He  treats  of  mental  experiences,  moral  purposes,  spirit 
ual  aspirations,  in  a  happy  manner.  Yet  he  speaks 
\  rather  through  the  imagination  than  the  heart,  is  an  in 
tellectual  more  than  a  sentimental  poet.  Emotion  and 
passion  do  not  enter  largely  into  his  poetry.  He  has 
feeling,  and  great  depth  of  it ;  but  it  is  not  directly  ex 
pressed.  There  is  much  of  the  Puritan  about  him,  an 
austere  distrust  of  emoticn.  He  is  usually  calm,  repose 
ful,  earnest  with  faith,  and  without  the  rushes  and 
surges  of  emotion  or  the  ecstasies  of  passion. 

"  His  feeling  has  the  quality  of  depth  and  earnestness,  sometimes 
hinting  at  a  certain  Hebrew  solemnity  rather  than  of  ardent  sym 
pathy.  He  is  not  apt  to  take  his  readers  into  friendly  counsel ; 
rarely  does  he  draw  them  near  his  heart ;  but  rather  speaks  to  them 
in  his  grand,  austere  tones  from  some  lofty  height  of  isolation. 
Not  a  trace  of  effeminacy,  of  the  weak  indulgence  of  even  the 
purest  passion,  ever  impairs  the  conscious  serenity  of  his  spirit. 
His  inspiration  flows  from  the  intellect,  or  rather  from  the  supreme 
poetic  faculty,  to  a  far  greater  degree  than  from  the  affections. 
Still,  he  is  not  without  frequent  touches  of  the  tenderest  pathos."  1 

Emerson  has  a  theory  of  poetry,  and  in  accordance 
with  it  most  of  his  poems  have  been  written.  It  is,  that 
mind  is  central,  the  source  of  an  infinite  unity ;  that  the 
outward  world  is  symbolical  of  the  spirit  expressed 
through  it,  and  that  every  fact  in  nature  carries  the 
whole  sense  of  nature.  He  sees  a  deep  and  subtle  rela 
tion  between  the  physical  universe  and  the  soul  of  man. 
The  world  is  a  symbol,  an  expression  to  the  senses,  of 
spirit ;  and  every  outward  fact  must  be  interpreted  in 
terms  of  the  inward  life.  This  idea  powerfully  appeals 
to  his  imagination,  sets  his  mind  aglow  with  analogies, 
and  stimulates  to  the  subtlest  spiritual  interpretations 
of  nature.v"  It  gives  a  mystic  character  to  his  poetry, 
and  makes  many  of  his  poems  seem  as  obscure  at  first 

i  Article  by  E.  P.  Whipple  m  The  Independent  for  1867. 


238  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

as  they  are  found  to  be  deep  with  the  profoundest 
meaning  when  tjae  analogy  is  penetrated,  and  they  are 
comprehended.  ( No  poet  beholds  spirit  so  universally 
present  as  he  does,  or  finds  God  so  truly  an  indwell 
ing  life  in  all  things. )  No  poetry  is  more  thoroughly 
religious,  though  it  has  none  of  the  conventional  forms 
of  religion.  God  and  the  soul  speak  to  him  every 
where  ;  every  bush  is  ablaze  with  the  glory  of  God. 
Nature  is  the  word  of  God,  the  living  epistle  of  truth, 
the  ever-open  book  wherein  we  may  read  the  wondrous 
law  of  the  Over-soul.  In  him  this  analogy  between 
nature  and  spirit  "  has  assumed  a  new  shape,  and  given 
birth  to  a  fresh  variety  of  spiritual  creation." 

"  The  religious  sense  with  which  prophets  and  holy  men  have 
consecrated  certain  spots  by  the  presence  of  Deity  is  carried  by 
him  into  the  universal  domain  of  Nature.  To  his  mystic  vision 
every  mountain  is  a  Sinai,  every  tree  of  the  wood  is  a  burning 
bush,  every  breeze  is  vocal  with  the  still,  small  voice.  In  the 
growth  of  plants,  the  flow  of  streams,  the  flight  of  birds,  he 
recognizes  the  mysterious  power  which  gives  vitality  to  the  soul, 
if  it  be  not  indeed,  according  to  his  Oriental  fancy,  the  outward 
projection  of  the  soul  itself."  1 

He  applies  the  same  ideas  in  the  interpretation  of  art, 
a  subject  on  which  he  has  not  written  so -wisely  or  with 
so  much  inspiration  as  he  has  concerning  poetry.  The 
essence  of  beauty,  he  says,  is  in  the  mind.  In  nature  it 
results  from  the  presence  of  the  universal  spirit,  the 
unity  of  all  things,  and  the  striving  of  every  natural 
thing  to  realize  itself  in  higher  forms.  It  is  "a  certain 
cosmical  quality  or  power  to  suggest  relation  to  the 
whole  world,"  and  always  betrays  the  presence  of 
u  somewhat  immeasurable  and  divine."  2  Art  is  com 
plementary  to  nature,  and  must  strictly  follow  its  laws. 3 
Here,  as  in  poetry,  moral  power  is  always  present,  and 
must  <]  >minate  the  work.  Art  must  follow  the  neces 
sary  ;  and  hence  true  art,  as  well  as  true  poetry,  is  un 
conscious  in  its  origin.  The  artist  does  not  create  so 
much  as  report.  The  soul  works  through  him,  he  is  its 

1  Ibid. 

2  Conduct  of  Life,  pp.  267,  268. 

8  Society  and  Solitude,  essay  on  Art. 


POETRY.  239 

unconscious  instrument.  "  The  artist  does  not  feel  him 
self  to  be  the  parent  of  his  work,  and  is  as  much  sur 
prised  at  the  effect  as  we."  Carlyle  has  made  much 
of  this  idea,  maintaining  that  all  great  performances  of 
whatever  kind  are  not  consciously  done,  that  they  are 
not  creations,  but  reportings  of  what  we  have  seen  in 
the  realms  of  spirit.  That  is,  all  highest  truth  is  an 
intuition,  and  comes  from  a  source  above  the  under 
standing. 

To  Emerson  poetry  is  the  only  verity,  contains  the 
only  reality..^  The  birth  of  a  poet  is  the  principal  human 
event,  for  he  stands  among  partial  men  for  the  com 
plete  man.  "  He  is  the  healthy,  the  wise,  the  funda 
mental,  the  manly  man,  seer  of  the  secret ;  against  all 
appearances  he  sees  and  reports  the  truth,  namely,  that 
the  soul  generates  matter."  Each  poetic  mind  perceives 
the  world  in  a  way  that  is  its  own,  thus  puts  forth  out 
of  its  own  being  a  world  after  its  own  nature.  As  a 
manifestation  of  the  Over-soul, — from  which  the  out 
ward  world  proceeds,  as  a  lessened-  expression  of  itself, 
—  does  each  individual  soul  reign  supreme  over  matter. 
Nature,  however,  is  responsive  to  the  spirit  it  expresses ; 
and  as  it  is  the  same  spirit  everywhere  manifest,  all  the 
manifold  phases  of  nature  answer  to  each  other,  like  to 
like.  It  is  this  identity  of  manifestation  which  gives 
to  poetry  its  imaginative  power. 

The  poet  is  the  world's  speaker,  giving  expression  to 
the  meanings  of  things ;  for  he  reads  and  interprets  the 
spiritual  -truth  which  the  outward  fact  means.  "  He 
stands  one  step  nearer  to  things,  and  sees  the  flowing  or 
metamorphosis;  perceives  that  thought  is  multiform; 
that  within  the  form  of  every  creature  is  a  force  im 
pelling  it  to  ascend  into  a  higher  form ;  and,  following 
with  his  eyes  the  life,  uses  the  forms  which  express  that 
Life,  and  so  his  speech  flows  with  the  flowing  of  nature. 
All  the  facts  of  the  animal  economy  —  sex,  nutriment, 
gestation,  birth,  growth  —  are  symbols  of  the  passage  of 
the  worlcHnto  the  soul  of  man,  to  suffer  there  a  change, 
and  re-appear  a  new  and  higher  fact."  So  the  chief 
value  of  whatever  new  fact  is  brought  forth  by  the  poet, 


240  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

is,  that  it  shall  enhance  "  the  great  and  constant  fact  of 
Life."  This  sublime  vision  of  a  higher  life  comes  only 
u  to  the  pure  and  simple  soul  in  a  clean  and  chaste 
body."  To  some  it  comes  so  as  to  lead  to  heroic  deeds 
and  living,  to  others  in  power  to  sing  ravishing  songs  of 
love  and  truth ;  but  "  words  and  deeds  are  quite  in 
different  modes  of  the  divine  energy."  The  poetic 
power  does  not  reside  in  meters,  but  in  the  "  meter- 
rnaking  argument,"  in  "a  thought  so  passionate  and 
alive,  that  it  has  an  architecture  of  its  own,  and  adorns 
nature  with  a  new  thing.  The  thought  and  the  form 
are  equal  in  the  order  of  time,  but  in  the  order  of  gen 
esis  the  thought  is  prior  to  the  form."  Emerson  is 
somewhat  indifferent  to  the  studied  forms  of  poetry, 
caring  more  for  the  thought  than  the  meter.  This  he 
justifies  in  Merlin,  where  he  says,  — 

"  Great  is  the  art, 
Great  be  the  manners,  of  the  bard, 
lie  shall  not  his  brain  encumber 
With  the  coil  of  rhythm  and  number ; 
But  leaving  rule  and  pale  forethought, 
He  shall  aye  climb 
For  his  rhyme, 
And  mount  to  paradise 
By  the  stairway  of  surprise." 

As  the  first  condition  of  poetic  power,  the  poet  must 
believe  in  his  poetry ;  and  all  the  great  poets  have  been 
enamored  of  their  sweet  thoughts.  They  know  that 
the  "  correspondence  of  things  to  thoughts  is  far  deeper 
than  they  can  penetrate, — defying  adequate  expres 
sion  ;  that  it  is  elemental,  or  in  the  core  of  things."  It 
being  so  much  more  than  can  be  fully  expressed,  it  is 
an  absolute  condition  of  true  poetry,  that  the  poet  shall 
have  no  theories  of  what  the  Infinite  ought  to  reveal  to 
/him ;  but  he  must  exactly  report  whatever  he  learns. 
vThe  poet  is  a  revealer,  repeating  to  men  what  the  Over- 
soul  gives  him  to  know;  " for  poetry  was  all  written 
before  time  was;  and  whenever  we  are  so  finely  organ 
ized  that  we  can  penetrate  into  that  region  where  the 
air  is  music,  we  hear  those  primal  warblings,  and 


POETRY.  241 

attempt  to  write  them  down."/  The  greater  the  vera 
city  and  faithfulness  of  the  poet,  the  more  he  keeps  out 
his  own  fancies,  and  speaks  the  living  word  nature 
reveals,  the  more  truly  is  he  a  poet.  Too  often  the 
poets  can  "  only  hint  the  matter,  or  allude  to  it,  being 
unable  to  fuse  and  mold  their  words  and  images  to 
fluid  obedience."  In  order  to  reach  the  most  perfect 
receptivity,  the  poet's  "  cheerfulness  should  be  the  gift 
of  the  sunlight ;  the  air  should  suffice  for  his  inspira 
tion,  and  he  should  be  tipsy  with  water."  If  he  wishes 
to  fill  his  brain  with  fashion  and  covetousness,  and  to 
stimulate  his  jaded  senses  with  wine  and  coffee,  he  will 
find  "  no  radiance  of  wisdom  in  the  lonely  waste  of  the 
pine-woods."  As  poetry  consists  in  finding  the  attach 
ments  of  things  to  the  Infinite,  and  their  consequent 
relations  to  each  other,  so  the  poet  finds  truth  every 
where  ;  and  could  he  but  read  the  secrets  of  the 
simplest  thing,  he  could  disclose  all  truth.  He  is  to 
read  nature  with  "  a  sensibility  so  keen  that  the  scent 
of  an  elder-blow,  or  the  timber-yard  and  corporation 
works  of  a  nest  of  pismires,  is  event  enough  for  him,  — 
all  emblems  and  personal  appeals  to  him."  Reading 
not  simply  the  external  beauty,  but  the  spiritual  sig 
nificance,  the  poet  sees  "the  factory- village  and  rail 
way  fall  within  the  great  order  not  less  than  the  bee 
hive,  or  the  spider's  geometrical  web."  The  poet  must 
also  be  a  builder  and  affirmer,  building  the  world  anew, 
and  after  a  more  perfect  fashion.  "  The  poet  says 
nothing  but  what  helps  somebody,"  lifts  the  veil  from 
the  hard  and  cold  formalities  of  life ;  "  gives  men 
glimpses  of  the  laws  of  the  universe ;  shows  them  the 
circumstance  as  illusion;  shows  that  nature  is  only  a 
language  to  express  the  laws,  which  are  grand  and 
beautiful;  and  lets  them,  by  his  songs,  into  some  of 
the  realities." 

A  higher  office  of  the  poet  still  is  the  power  of 
creation,.  &y  which  he  shapes  the  imperfect  towards  the 
perfect.  Here  we  find  "that  there  is  a  mental  power 
and  creation  more  excellent  than  any  thing  which  is 
<;ommouly  called  philosophy  and  literal  are,"  and  that 


242  RALPH   WALDO   EMEKSON. 

the  high  poets,  as  Homer,  Milton,  and  Shakspere  "do 
not  fully  content  us."  They  do  not  offer  us  heavenly 
bread  ,  and  the  true  poetry  is  to  be  found  in  Zoroaster 
and  Plato,  St.  John  and  Menu,  "with  their  moral 
burdens."  Real  poetry  should  bring  us  back  to  nature, 
and  make  life  more  harmonious.  In  gaining  this  result 
"  it  is  net  style  or  rhymes,  or  a  new  image  more  or 
less,  that  imports,  but  sanity ;  that  life  should  not  be 
mean ;  that  life  should  be  an  image  in  every  part  beau 
tiful  ;  that  the  old  forgotten  splendors  of  the  universe 
should  glow  again  for  us,  —  that  we  should  lose  our  wit, 
but  gain  our  reason.  And  when  life  is  true  to  the  poles 
of  nature,  the  streams  of  truth  will  roll  through  us  in 
song."  It  is  the  inspiring  and  spiritually-minded  poets 
Emerson  loves,  those  who  speak  out  of  the  depths  of  a 
great  faith,  and  who  paint  the  moral  vision  of  a  har 
monious  world.  The  bard,  he  says  in  Loss  and  Gain, 
must  yield  himself  entirely  to  virtue  ; 

"  Must  throw  away  his  pen  and  paint, 

Kneel  with  worshipers. 
Then,  perchance,  a  sunny  ray 

From  the  heaven  of  fire, 
His  lost  tools  may  overpay, 

And  better  his  desire." 

The  real  poets  have  been  those  capable  of  "  marry 
ing  nature  and  mind,  undoing  the  old  divorce  in  which 
poetry  has  been  famished  and  false,  and  nature  been 
suspected  and  pagan."  When  the  life  that  is  to  be 
lived  after  the  perfect  order  of  nature,  "  shall  be  organ 
ized  and  appear  on  earth,  the  Iliad  will  be  reckoned  a 
poor  ballad-grinding ;  for  sooner  or  later  that  which  is 
now  life  shall  be  poetry,  and  every  fair  and  manly  trait 
shall  add  a  richer  strain  to  the  song."  Emerson  thinks 
that  Swedenborg  and  Wordsworth  have  been  the  agents 
of  this  reform,  by  which  poetry  is  to  be  regarded  for  its 
moral  and  natural  interpretations  of  the  world  and  of 
life.  He  sees,  however,  the  artificial  position  of  these 
men,  that  they  have  not  arrived  at  the  full  reality, 
though  on  the  right  read ;  for  he  regards  it  as  "  boyish 
in  Swedenborg  to  cumber  himself  with  the  dead  scurf 


TOETEY.  243 

of  Hebrew  antiquity,  as  if  the  divine  creative  energy 
had  fainted  in  his  own  century."  The  poet  should 

"  not  seek  to  weave, 
In  weak,  unhappy  times, 
Efficacious  rhymes." 

He  is  not  to  mingle  in  the  base  purposes  of  the  world. 

"  God,  who  gave  to  him  the  lyre, 
Of  all  mortals  the  desire, 
For  all  breathing  men's  behoof, 
Straitly  charged  him,  Sit  aloof." 

Yet  he  is  to  love  the  race  of  men,  nor  immure  himself 
in  a  den ;  for  the  people  must  hear  him,  and  find  inspira 
tion  in  his  words.  He  must  meditate  long  and  much, 
that  his  themes  may  be  great  and  his  inspiration  sure. 
The  chords  of  his  harp 

"  should  ring  as  blows  the  breeze, 
Free,  peremptory,  clear. 
No  jingling  serenader's  art, 
Nor  tinkle  of  piano-strings, 
Can  make  the  wild  blood  start 
In  its  mystic  springs. 
The  kingly  bard 

Must  smite  the  chords  rudely  and  hard, 
As  with  hammer  or  with  mace ; 
That  they  may  render  back 
Artful  thunder,  which  conveys 
Secrets  of  the  solar  track, 
Sparks  of  the  supersolar  blaze." 

In  this  same  poem  of  Merlin  he  tells  us  what  it  is  that 
makes  the  song  of  the  true  poet  so  masterful,  when  he 
says  that  his 

"  blows  are  strokes  of  fate 

Chiming  with  the  forest  tone, 

When  boughs  buffet  boughs  in  the  wood ; 

Chiming  with  the  gasp  and  moan 

Of  the  ice-imprisoned  flood ; 

With  the  pulse  of  manly  hearts ; 

With  the  voice  of  orators ; 

With  the  din  of  city  arts ; 

With  the  cannonade  of  wars ; 

With  the  inarches  of  the  brave ; 

And  prayers  of  might  from  martyr's  cave." 


EALPH  WALDO   EMERSON. 

The  sympathies  of  the  poet,  too,  must  be  as  wide  as 
the  experiences  of  men,  so  that  he  can  enter  into  appre 
ciation  of  all  their  hopes  and  motives.  This  sympathy 
he  has  expressed  in  an  allegorical  poem,  such  as  he 
often  delights  in  writing :  — 

"  There  are  beggars  in  Iran  and  Araby : 
Said  was  hungrier  than  all. 
Men  said  he  was  a  fly, 
That  came  to  every  festival ; 
Also  he  came  to  the  mosque 
In  trail  of  camel  and  caravan, 
Out  from  Mecca  or  Ispahan ; 
Northward  he  went  to  the  snowy  hills ; 
At  court  he  sat  in  grave  divan. 
His  music  was  the  south  wind's  sigh, 
His  lamp  the  maiden's  downcast  eye ; 
And  ever  the  spell  of  beauty  came, 
And  turned  the  drowsy  world  to  flame. 
By  lake  and  stream  and  gleaming  hall, 
And  modest  copse,  and  the  forest  tall, 
Where'er  he  went,  the  magic  guide 
Kept  its  place  by  the  poet's  side. 
Tell  me  the  world  is  a  talisman ; 
To  read  it  must  be  the  art  of  man. 
Said  melted  the  days  in  cups  like  pearl ; 
Served  high  and  low,  the  lord  and  the  churl ; 
Loved  harebells  nodding  on  a  rock, 
A  cabin  hung  with  curling  smoke, 
And  huts  and  tents,  nor  loved  the  less 
Stately  lords  in  palaces, 
Fenced  by  form  and  ceremony."1 

The  most  popular  of  Emerson's  poems  are  those  de 
voted  to  nature  and  its  manifestations.  Some  of  these 
have  a  richness  of  expression,  a  wealth  of  meaning,  a 
simplicity  of  style,  and  a  depth  of  insight,  seldom  sur 
passed.  They  seem  to  be  almost  perfect,  so  exquisitely 
true  are  they,  and  so  grandly  fine  are  their  interpreta 
tions.  They  indicate  the  most  intimate  acquaintance 
with  nature  in  all  her  moods,  a  close  and  a  sympathetic 
study  of  her  objects  and  creatures.  Their  power  con 
sists,  not  simply  in  their  picturing  for  us,  in  the  most 

i  These  lines  have  not  appeared  as  from  Emerson's  pen,  but  are 
printed  in  Channing's  Thoreau,  p.  161. 


POETRY.  245 

faithful  manner,  the  phenomena  of  the  outward  world, 
but  much  more  in  that  overflowing  faith  which  reads  in 
them  the  moral  and  spiritual  truths  of  a  Cosmos.  He 
says  that  ^Nature  is  the  representative  of  the  univer 
sal  mind,"  and  this  idea  penetrates  and  absorbs  all  his 
poetry  .J  Yet  it  never  stifles  and  oppresses  us  with  its 
religiousness ;  because,  in  the  dogmatic  and  ordinary 
sense,  it  never  is  religious.  It  rises  to  a  height  far 
above  all  formal  religion,  —  to  a  calm,  serene,  and  majes 
tic  faith  in  the  Life  that  throbs  in  matchless  wonder 
and  ceaseless  beauty  all  around,  touching  all  things 
with  its  glory.  The  poet  gives  the  true  meaning  of 
nature,  only  when  he  becomes  its  servant,  and  lets  it 
sing  through  him  the  song  of  unceasing  creation.  The 
true  poet  finds  his  verse  brought  to  him  by  the  muse ; 
and  it  is  great  and  true  when  it  sings  through  him,  even 
against  his  will,  rising  far  over  his  judgment  into  the 
unseen  and  awful  heights  where  his  weary  feet  can  not 
follow.  Yet  Emerson  is  not  merely  a  mystic,  he  does 
not  deal  in  rhapsody,  nor  does  he  picture  nature  only 
from  his  imagination.  He  has  studied  nature  in  a  care 
ful  manner,  not,  it  is  true,  as  a  man  of  science,  but  as  a 
poet.  He  has  watched  the  various  phases  of  nature, 
even  in  their  details.  His  picture  of  "  the  forest  seer," 
in  Wood-notes,  so  often  falsely  regarded  as  a  portrait 
of  Thoreau,  is  an  exact  account  of  his  own  habits  and 
experiences.  Few  poets  havej^rasped  nature  as  ajyJiQle 
so  completely,  ~"6T~caught  so  cleaHyT^irid  expressed  so 
finely,  that  total  effect  it  produces  on  the  mind  of  man. 
In  one  of  the  most  suggestive  of  his  poems,  Each  and 
All,  he  has  succeeded  in  stating  the  spiritual  effect 
which  nature  produces,  and  the  relations  of  objects 
to  each  other  in  the  total  impression.  In  that  poem  he 
suggests  the  failure  of  science  to  understand  nature  as 
it  is,  when  it  sees  only  the  dissected  detail.  Tyndall 
has  admirably  stated  the  same  fact  in  these  deeply  im 
portant  words :  — 

"  The  ultimate  problem  of  physics  is  to  reduce  matter  by  analy 
sis  to  its  lowest  conditions  of  divisibility,  and  force  to  its  simplest 
manifestations,  and  then  by  synthesis  to  construct  from  these  ele- 


246  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

ments  the  world  as  it  stands.  We  are  still  a  long  way  from  the 
final  solution  of  this  problem ;  and  when  the  solution  comes,  it  will 
be  one  more  of  spiritual  insight  than  of  actual  observation." x 

Emerson  has  been  an  observer,  a  patient  student; 
and  he  has  described  Nature  with  rare  accuracy.  Her 
humble  forms  he  knows,  and  can  make  them  the  imple 
ments  of  his  poetic  skill.  His  poetry  is  inspired  by  the 
objects  and  scenes  within  sight  of  his  own  house. 

"  In  his  delineations  of  Nature,  even  in  her  slightest  hints  of 
color  and  texture,  of  form  and  order,  there  is  a  marvelous  accuracy 
of  expression,  showing,  a  singularly  acute  and  truthful  eye,  no  less 
than  a  radiant  imagination.  In  the  grand  procession  of  the  seasons, 
no  delicate  phase  escapes  his  notice.  The  wonderful  processes  of 
seedtime  and  harvest  are  watched  with  the  severity  of  scientific  re 
search.  He  loves  the  secret  haunts  of  Nature,  and  is  never  weary 
of  spying  into  her  mysteries.  His  acquaintance  with  her  ways  has 
been  gained  by  face-to-face  intercourse.  He  meets  her  disclosures 
with  the  love  of  an  ancient,  familiar  friend."2 

The  very  health  of  spring  is  in  May-Day.  It  is 
fragrant  with  the  budding  May.  Equally  perfect  to 
nature  are  The  Rhodora,  The  Humble-bee,  The  Tit 
mouse,  The  Snow-storm,  Wood-notes,  and  some  others. 
The  characteristics  of  these  poems  are  shown  in  one 
of  the  shortest,  Rhodora.  There  is  an  exquisite  de 
light  in  nature  itself,  a  quiet  and  yet  an  intense  rejoi 
cing  in  its  sights,  sounds,  colors,  and  forms ;  a  delicate 
sympathy  with  it.  The  flower, 

"  Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook," 

is  an  object  of  keen  interest.  It  is  an  interest,  not 
merely  worldly  or  inquisitive,  but  spiritual,  and  longing 
to  know  the  secrets  of  things ;  that  finds  the  solemn 
song  of  nature  chanted  beside  a  stagnant  pool,  in  the 
fresh  flower  of  the  woods,  which,  budding  anew  into 
life,  reads  here  afresh  the  perpetual  marvel  of  the 
world.  One  may  turn  through  the  pages  of  many 
poets  before  finding  again  any  lines  so  simple,  appar 
ently  so  trite  in  their  theme,  yet  possessing  so  steady  a 

1  Fragments  of  Science,  p.  100,  An  Address  to  Students. 

2  W hippie. 


POETRY.  247 

faith,  and   a   sympathy  with  nature   so   intimate  and 
noble,  as  these  that  close  this  little  poem :  — 

"  Rhodora!  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 
This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky, 
Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 
Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being : 
Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose ! 
I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  nsver  knew ; 
But,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose 
The  self-same  Power  that  brought  me  there  brought  you." 

The  Humble-bee  is  a  gem,  true  in  its  descriptions 
and  rich  in  its  suggestions.  Some  of  the  lines  are 
fine  bits  of  word-painting,  as  these :  — 

"  Burly,  dozing  humble-bee,^ 

"  Thou  animated  torrid  zotfe,"    ., 

"  Zigzag  steerer,  desert  che^rW/lN  1  V  £  £\t  d  i  A 

"  Insect  lover  of  the  sun," 

"  Rover  of  the  underwoods.' 


And  this  ideal  picture  of  the  "  epicurean  of  June  "  is 
delightful  in  its  familiarity  with  the  scenes  the  humble- 
bee  loves,  and  in  its  delicate  sense  of  the  healthfulr.ess 
of  nature :  — 

"  Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 
Hath  my  insect  never  seen ; 
But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 
Maple-sap  and  daffodils, 
Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high, 
Succory  to  match  the  sky, 
Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 
Scented  fern  and  agrimony, 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue, 
And  brier-roses,  dwelt  among ; 
All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 
All  was  picture  as  he  passed." 

That  faithful  description  of  the  Snow-storm,  printed 
long  ago  in  The  Dial,  has  already  become  a  classic  in 
our  language.  The  lover  of  true  poetry  knows  it  well. 
In  the  Wood-notes  of  the  same  period  is  a  sketch  of 
the  poet's  work,  showing  why  Emerson  is  attracted,  as  a 
poet,  to  nature.  The  knowledge  which  the  poet 


248  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

"  prizes  best 

Seems  fantastic  to  the  rest : 
Pondering  shadows,  colors,  clouds, 
Grass -buds,  and  caterpillar-shrouds, 
Boughs  on  which  the  wild  bees  settle, 
Tints  that  spot  the  violet's  petal, 
Why  Nature  loves  the  number  five, 
And  why  the  star-form  she  repeats ; 
Lover  of  all  things  alive, 
Wonderer  at  all  he  meets, 
Wonderer  chiefly  at  himself,  — 
Who  can  tell  him  what  he  is  ?  " 

One  of  the  most  perfect  of  his  poems  in  form,  as 
it  is  magnetic  in  effect  and  correct  in  description,  is 
the  Sea-shore.  It  admirably  shows  his  capacity  of 
blending  correct  description  and  pure  coloring  with 
lofty  spiritual  suggestion.  What  finer  account  of  the 
sea,  and  its  relations  to  man,  than  that  contained  in 
these  lines? 

"  Behold  the  sea, 

The  opaline,  the  plentiful  and  strong, 
Yet  beautiful  as  is  the  rose  in  June, 
Fresh  as  the  trickling  rainbow  of  July ; 
Sea  full  of  food,  the  nourisher  of  kinds, 
Purger  of  earth,  and  medicine  of  men ; 
Creating  a  sweet  climate  by  rny  breath, 
Washing  out  harms  and  griefs  from  memory, 
And,  in  my  mathematic  ebb  and  flow, 
Giving  a  hint  of  that  which  changes  not." 

The  uses  of  the  sea  are  pictured  in  this  stanza :  -— 

"  I  with  my  hammer  pounding  evermore 
The  rocky  coast,  smite  Andes  into  dust, 
Strewing  my  bed,  and,  in  another  age, 
llebuild  a  continent  of  better  men. 
Then  I  unbar  the  doors ;  my  paths  lead  out 
The  exodus  of  nations ;  I  disperse 
Men  to  all  shores  that  front  tie  hoary  main." 

The  effect  of  the  sea  on  the  imagination  of  man  is  set 
forth  in  these  lines :  — 

"  Leave  me  to  deal 

With  credulous  and  imaginative  man  ; 
For,  though  he  scoop  my  water  in  his  palm, 


POETRY.  249 

A  few  rods  off  he  deems  it  gems  and  clouds. 
Planting  strange  fruits  and  sunshine  on  the  shore, 
I  make  some  coast  alluring,  some  lone  isle, 
To  distant  men,  who  must  go  there,  or  die." 

It  is  this  love  of  all  living  things,  however  common 
or  unclean,  and  this  wonder  and  awe  at  the  mystery 
and  the  life  all  things  express,  that  largely  characterize 
the  poetry  of  Emerson,  and  give  to  it  much  of  its 
subtle  power.  It  is  rough  and  uncouth  in  appear 
ance  and  sound,  as  most  poetry  is  not;  but  the  more 
it  is  studied,  the  more  it  attracts,  and  the  plainer  be 
comes  its  harmony,  which  is  more  penetrating  in  its 
effect  than  any  surface  form.  It  is  the  poetry  of 
thought,  and  not  of  rhythm  or  color ;  of  an  attracting 
and  winning  power  in  nature  to  sooth  and  harmonize 
and  make  true  the  soul  of  man.  This  is  shown  in  the 
Wood-notes :  — 

"  Whoso  walketh  in  solitude, 
Arid  inhabiteth  the  wood, 
Choosing  light,  wave,  rock,  and  bird;,, 
Before  the  money-loving  herd, 
Into  that  forester  shall  pass, 
From  these  companions,  power  and  grace ; 
Clean  shall  he  be,  without,  within, 
From  the  old  adhering  sin." 

The  mysticism  of  his  thought  is  more  delightful  in  his 
poetry  than  in  his  prose,  and  is  suggestive  of  the  flow 
ing  and  receding  of  all  visible  forms  before  the  power 
of  the  spirit,  which  alone  is  alive  and  stable.  Nature 
chants  to  him  ever  a  mystic  song, 

"  To  the  open  ear  it  sings 
Sweet  the  genesis  of  things, 
Of  tendency  through  endless  ages, 
Of  star-dust,  and  star-pilgrimages, 
Of  rounded  worlds,  of  space  and  time, 
Of  the  old  flood's  subsiding  slime, 
Of  chemic  matter,  force  and  form, 
Of  poles  and  powers,  cold,  wet,  and  warm ; 
*-     The  rushing  metamorphosis, 
Dissolving  all  that  fixture  is, 
Melts  things  that  be  to  things  that  seem, 
And  solid  nature  to  a  dream." 


250  KALPH   WALDO   EMEKSON. 

The  attraction  of  man  to  nature,  and  sympathy  with 
it,  which  comes  out  through  all  these  poems,  the  sub 
jects  of  which  are  natural  objects,  is  an  attraction  and 
sympathy  growing  out  of  their  oneness  of  origin.  This 
affinity  is  full  of  alluring  interest.  In  many  others  it 
finds  expression  as  the  power  of  love  to  win  the  heart 
and  hold  it  pure.  The  higher  the  forms  of  being,  the 
stronger  the  bonds  and  fascinations  of  this  love.  This 
harmony  and  unity  is  the  return  of  nature  and  man  to 
the  Infinite  Love,  from  whence  they  came.  To  return 
into  this  harmony  is  the  secret  aim  and  the  source  of 
the  longing  and  attraction  of  all  things,  which  impels 
them  out  of  the  present,  "  poor  and  bare,"  towards  the 
full  melody  and  perfectness  of  the  future. 

"  The  sense  of  the  world  is  short,  — 
Long  and  various  the  report,  — 
To  love  and  be  beloved." 

There  is  nothing  denied  to  this  subtle  affinity  and 
attraction . 

"  The  solid,  solid  universe 

Is  pervious  to  love," 
and  it 

"  reconciles 
By  mystic  wiles 
The  evil  and  the  good." 

It  is  the  affinity  of  man  to  all  things,  which  is  the 
height  of  love ;  and  it  is  a  power  essential  to  the  poet. 
The  real  poet  must  "  give  all  to  love,"  must  love  every 
thing  that  is,  must  feel  all  attractions,  and  come  into 
secret  sympathy  with  all  things.  The  soul  that  would 
know  the  celestial  love,  and  pierce  the  deeps  of  things, 
must  rise  into  the  highest  regions,  above  every  passion 
and  low  desire, 

"  Into  vision  where  all  form 
In  one  only  form  dissolves  ;  " 

and  it  is  only 

(  "  There  the  holy  essence  rolls 
/     One  through  separated  souls." 


POETRY.  251 

His  philosophical  poems,  though  least  appreciated, 
because  not  understood,  are  perhaps  his  best.  They 
are  full  of  power,  often  entering  into  the  profoundest 
questions  with  a  wisdom  and  clearness  of  vision  seldom 
found.  The  Sphinx  deals  with  some  of  the  questions 
discussed  in  his  best  essays,  and  gives  a  solution  even 
better  stated  than  any  he  has  furnished  in  prose.  The 
riddle  of  existence  lies  in  the  possibility  of  man's  end 
less  growth,  so  that  ever  new  heights  will  open  before 
him,  and  in  his  own  kinship  to  every  other  existence. 
The  Infinite  dwells  in  man  as  in  all  things  else ;  the 
key  to  one  existence  being  furnished,  all  being  can  be 
known.  But  man  must  not  seek  in  time  and  its  forms 
the-  answer ;  he  must  rise  to  harmony  with  the  things 
of  the  spirit;  for  he  is  a  "clothed  eternity,"  and  in 
love  must  find  the  Infinite  which  fades  not  away.  In 
one  of  his  essays  he  has  also  interpreted  the  myth  of 
the  Sphinx,  and  it  will  throw  much  light  on  the  poem. 
All  these  myths  he  believes  embody  some  great  idea,  as 
Proteus  symbolizes  the  doctrine  of  identity. 

"  As  near  and  proper  to  us  is  also  that  old  fable  of  the  Sphinx, 
who  was  said  to  sit  in  the  road-side  and  put  riddles  to  every  pas 
senger.  If  the  man  could  not  answer,  she  swallowed  him  alive.  If 
he  could  solve  the  riddle,  the  Sphinx  was  slain.  What  is  our  life 
but  an  endless  flight  of  winged  facts  or  events?  In  splendid 
variety  these  changes  come,  all  putting  questions  to  the  human 
spirit.  Those  men  who  can  not  answer  by  a  superior  wisdom  these 
facts  or  questions  of  time,  serve  them.  Facts  encumber  them, 
tyrannize  over  them,  and  make  the  men  of  routine  the  men  of  sense, 
in  whom  a  literal  obedience  to  facts  has  extinguished  every  spark 
of  that  light  by  which  man  is  truly  man.  But  if  the  man  is  true 
to  his  better  instincts  or  sentiments,  and  refuses  the  dominion  of 
facts,  as  one  that  comes  of  a  higher  race,  remains  fast  by  the  soul 
and  sees  the  principle,  then  the  facts  fall  aptly  and  supple  into 
their  places ;  they  know  their  master,  and  the  meanest  of  them 
glorifies  him." 1 

One  of  the  most  striking  of  these  poems  is  Brahma, 
which  sums  up  the  "Yoga"  doctrine  of  the  ancient 
Hindoos  in  a  few  perfect  words.  The  very  name  given 
the  little  poem  indicates  that  it  was  suggested  by  his 

1  Essays,  first  series,  p.  29. 


252  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

studies  among  these  Oriental  thinkers.     It  teaches  that 
subtle   ever-present   Sprit   is   the  absolute  life   in    all 
things.     The  soul  can  not  be  slain,  nothing  can  destroy 
it;  for  it  is  one  with  the  Over-soul.     To  the  Infinite, 
moreover,  all  forms  are  alike ;    and  all  which  men  see 
and  know,  as  human  creatures,  is  phenomenal.     The 
spirit  abides  alone  ;  in  that  is  life.     If  we  seek  its  truth 
and  its  harmony,  turning  our  backs  on  the  heaven  that 
promises  only  happiness,  we  shall  find  the  "abode"  of 
the  Infinite.     In  this  poem  it  is  the  infinite,  absolute, 
unchanging  Deity  who   speaks;    and  He  is  alike  the 
cause  of  good  and  evil,  light  and  darkness,  faith  and 
doubt.     It  may  be  better  understood  by  a  quotation  or 
two  from  the  Bhagavad   Grit  a.     "  He  who  believes  that 
spirit  can  kill,  and  he  who  thinks  that  it  can  be  killed, 
both  are  wrong  in  judgment.     It  neither  kills,  nor  is 
killed.     It  is  not  born,  nor  dies  at  any  time."     The  soul 
is  "  unborn,  changeless,  eternal  both  as  to  future  and 
past  time;  it  is  not  slain  when  the  body  is  killed." 
The  last  lines  of  Emerson's  poem  find  their  counterpart 
in  the  words  of  the  Deity  in  the  Bhagavad  G-ita,  who 
says,  "  Abandoning  all  religious  duties,  seek  me  as  thy 
refuge."      In    this  book    the    Infinite    Spirit,    Brahma, 
says,  "  They  who  serve  other  gods  with  a  firm  belief, 
in  doing  so,  involuntarily  worship  me.     I  am  he  who 
partaketh  of  all  worship,  and  I  am  their  reward.     I  am 
the  soul  which  standeth  in  the  bodies  of  all  beings."     It 
also  teaches  that  the  souls  of  men  "proceed  unbewil- 
dered  to  that  imperishable  place  which  is  not  illumined 
by  the  sun  or  moon,  to  that  primeval  "Spirit  whence  the 
spirit  of  life  for  ever  flows."     Of  the  same  philosophic;)  1 
character   are  The  Visit,  Uriel,  The  World-Soul,  and 
some  others.     Each  summarizes  in  a  few  lyrical  lines 
one  of  his  great  thoughts ;  and  for  those  who  penetrate 
the  idea  which  is  sung,  it  is  given  an  added  grace  and 
beauty   in  this   poetic   form.     Of   a   less  philosophical 
character,  but  even  more  profound  and  suggestive,  are 
a  number  of  such  poems  as  Each  and  All,  The  Problem, 
Letters,  and  Days.     These  are  among  the  most  inspiring 
of  meditative  poems.     They  are  as  rigidly  simple  as 


POETRY.  253 

they  are  wondrously  suggestive  and  thought-provoking. 
Each  and  All  teaches  one  of  the  most  needed  of  all 
lessons  we  can  learn,  and  in  lines  of  exquisite  beauty. 
Hedge  truly  characterizes  The  Problem  as  "wholly 
unique,  and  transcending  all  contemporary  verse  in 
grandeur  of  style."  Such  a  poem  as  Letters  is  but  a 
mere  hint ;  and  yet,  hint  as  it  is,  the  depths  and  heights 
of  religious  devotion  are  all  suggested  in  its  half-dozen 
lines.  One  of  its  beauties  is,  this  rigid  economy  of 
suggestion  ;  and  another,  the  absolute  trust  hinted  at, 
but  sufficiently  disclosed. 

Emerson's  poetry  is  personal,  touched  always  with  his 
own  emotions,  and  made  living  with  the  spontaneous 
sympathies  of  his  own  ideas.  His  poetry  is  to  a  large 
extent  biographical,  far  more  so  than  his  prose,  and 
throws  much  light  on  his  personal  experiences  and  mo 
tives.  The  key  to  many  of  his  poems  can  be  found 
only  in  his  life,  and  in  his  intercourse  with  his  intimate 
friends.  Whoever  would  understand  him,  must  know 
his  poetry  thoroughly ;  "for  there  alone  has  he  expressed 
the  fullness  of  his  nature,  and  the  innermost  of  his  own 
mind  and  heart.  His  poetry  is  individual,  human,  alive  ; 
hence  it  is  stimulating  in  its  influence  on  other  poets. 
In  spite  of  his  want  "of  poetic  art;  though  his  verses 
often  halt,  while  the  conclusion  flags ;  and  though  the 
metrical  propriety  is  recklessly  violated,  —  yet  "this 
defect  is  closely  connected  with  the  characteristic  merit 
of  the  poet,  and  springs  from  the  same  root,  —  his  utter 
spontaneity.  And  this  spontaneity  is  perhaps  but  a 
•  mode  of  that , sincerity  which  may  be  noted  in  his  prose. 
More  than  those  of  any  of  his  contemporaries,  his  poems 
fur  the  most  part  are  inspirations.  They  are  not  made, 
but  given;  they  come  of  themselves.  They  are  not 
meditated,  but  burst  from  the  soul  with  an  irrepressible 
necessity  of  utterance,  —  sometimes  with  a  rush  which 
defies  the  shaping  intellect."  1  This  lyrical  power  was 
also  noticed  by  Frederika  Bremer,  when  she  says  the 
other  American  poets  speak  to  society,  but  Emerson 

i  F.  II .  Hedge,  in  Literary  World  for  May  22,  1880. 


254  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

always  merely  to  the  individual.1  She  said  of  his 
poems,  "  They  are  all  to  me  as  a  breeze  from  the  life 
of  the  New  World,  in  a  certain  illimitable  vastness  of 
life,  in  expectation,  in  demand,  in  faith,  in  hope,  —  a 
something  which  makes  me  draw  a  deeper  breath,  and, 
as  it  were,  in  a  larger,  freer  world."  This  inspiring 
power  —  so  fresh,  original,  and  individual  —  has  been 
noticed  by  another  critic,  himself  a  poet  of  no  mean 
ability.  Howells  says  that  Emerson,  "perhaps  more 
than  any  other  modern  poet,  gives  the  notion  of  in 
spiration  ;  so  that  one  doubts,  in  reading  him,  how 
much  to  praise  or  blame.  The  most  exquisite  effects 
seem  not  to  have  been  invited,  but  to  have  sought 
production  from  his  unconsciousness ;  graces  alike  of 
thought  and  of  touch  seem  the  unsolicited  gifts  of  the 
gods."  As  Howells  suggests,  however,  "it  is  probable 
that  no  utterance  is  more  considered  than  this  poet's, 
and  that  no  one  is  more  immediately  responsible  than 
he "  for  what  he  writes.  Hedge  can  not  be  correct 
in  the  supposition  that  his  poems  are  purely  sponta 
neous,  written  at  fever  heat,  dashed  off  in  a  moment, 
and  without  revision.  We  must  suppose  them  to  be 
wrought  out  carefully,  undergoing  the  most  exacting 
revision,  but  retaining  all  the  power  of  spontaneity 
and  inspiration.  His  exquisite  poem,  The  Test,  in 
which  the  muse  is  supposed  to  be  speaking,  correctly 
represents  his  own  methods. 

"  I  hung  my  verses  in  the  wind, 
Time  and  tide  their  faults  may  find. 
All  were  winnowed  through  and  through, 
Five  lines  lasted  sound  and  true." 

Thoroughly  winnowed  are  all  his  poems,  as  are  his 
essays ;  but  in  the  same  "way  they  are  inspirations, 
gathered  in  the  hours  of  richest  thought.  For  the 
same  reasons  they  are  full  of  quotable  sentences, 
strong,  apt,  wise,  and  exquisitely  expressed.  His 
felicity  of  expression  is  remarkable,  and  his  p'ainting 
of  nature  and  human  motives  perfect.  Especially 

1  Homes  of  the  New  World,  p.  41. 


POETRY.  255 

must  his  poetry  be  valued  for  its  vigorous  moral  tone, 
its  pure  sense  of  human  relations,  and  its  invincible 
faith  in  moral  consequences.  He  is  one  of  the  great 
moral  poets,  standing,  indeed,  in  the  front  rank  of 
those  who  have  dealt  with  human  duties.  He  sees 
clearly  the  moral  and  spiritual  relations  of  men,  to 
each  other,  to  nature,  arid  to  God ;  and  the  great 
spiritual  laws,  typified  in  nature,  by  which  all  human 
motives  and  conduct  are  surrounded. 

Steadily  has  he  followed  the  great  ideas  and  motives 
which  have  been  the  inspiration  of  his  life.  His  poetry 
has  not  descended  from  its  pure  heights,  or  forgotten 
the  truths  it  had  to  speak.  In  his  Terminus,  which 
Howells  says  "has  a  wonderful  didactic  charm,  and 
must  be  valued  as  one  of  the  noblest  introspective 
poems  in  the  language,"  he  has,  in  a  tender  manner, 
spoken  of  the  old  age  that  has  come  upon  him,  and  the 
need  to 

"  Economize  the  failing  river," 

though  he  would 

"  Not  the  less  revere  the  Giver." 

He  has  been  faithful,  he  will  be  faithful  still,  and 
fulfill,  true  to  himself,  the  duties  which  come  with  old 
age.  In  a  perfect  line  he  has  sung  this  faith  and  trust. 
It  is  a  worthy  last  word  of  a  poet  so  true,  faithful,  and 
pure  as  he. 

"  As  the  bird  trims  her  to  the  gale, 

I  trim  myself  to  the  storm  of  time, 

I  man  the  rudder,  reef,  and  sail, 

Obey  the  voice  at  eve  obeyed  at  prime : 

1  Lowly  faithful,  banish  fear, 

Right  onward  drive  unharmed ; 

The  port,  well  worth  the  cruise,  is  near, 

And  every  wave  is  charmed.' " 


256  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 


XVIII. 

AS    A   LECTURER. 

'  TN  this  country  Emerson  was  among  those  who  first 
J-  made  popular  the  lecture  as  a  means  of  ^general 
culture.  He  helped  make  it  a  moral  and  intellectual 
power,  a  means  of  quickening  influence  on  life  and 
thought.  He  may  also  be  said  to  have  founded  the 
Lyceum  ;  for  he  shaped  its  character,  and  made  it  an 
efficient  instrument  of  popular  instruction.  It  was  in 
existence  when  he  began  to  lecture,  as  a  means  of  dif 
fusing  scientific  knowledge ;  but  he  gave  it  a  literary, 
nioral,  and  reformatory  character,  and  shaped  its  destiny. 
The  first  Lyceum  was  founded  by  Josiah  Holbrook, 
in  1826.  Holbrook  was  born  at  Derby,  Conn.,  in  1788, 
and  graduated  at  Yale.  He  heard  Silliman's  lectures, 
and  became  deeply  interested  in  chemistry,  miner 
alogy,  and  geology.  In  1824  he  opened  an  agricultural 
school  on  his  farm  in  Derby,  in  which  he  gave  much 
attention  to  scientific  subjects ;  but  it  was  continued 
only  a  little  more  than  a  year.  In  October,  1826,  he 
published  a  paper  in  the  American  Journal  of  .Education 
on  Associations  of  Adults  for  the  Purpose  of  Mutual 
Education.  Delivering  a  course  of  lectures  on  scien 
tific  subjects  in  Millbury,  Mass.,  soon  after,  he  induced 
about  forty  persons  to  unite  in  organizing  such  a 
society.  At  his  request  'it  was  called  the  Millbury 
Lyceum.  This  was  the  first  organization  of  the  kind 
in  the  country.  Holbrook  had  in  view  the  establish 
ment  of  such  societies  throughout  the  country,  and  a 
union  of  them  under  some  general  organization.  A 
convention  was  held  in  Boston,  Nov.  7,  1828,  to  pro 
mote  the  interests  of  the  Lyceums,  and  to  further  their 


AS   A   LECTURER.  257 

wide-spread  organization.  Among  those  who  took  part 
in  this  meeting  were  Webster,  Everett,  Dr.  Lowell,  and 
George  B.  Emerson.  The  American  Lyceum,  to  repre 
sent  the  local  societies,  was  organized  at  this  time 
probably.  Holbrook's  idea  was  mainly  scientific ;  and 
the  Lyceum  was  to  be  a  means  of  disseminating  scien 
tific  knowledge  through  classes,  lectures,  and  the  col 
lection  and  exchange  of  scientific  specimens.  The 
lectures  were  on  scientific  and  hygienic  subjects 
exclusively.  In  1830  Holbrcok  began  the  publication 
of  a  series  of  scientific  tracts,  and  in  1882  he  started  a 
journal  called  The  Family  Lyceum.  At  this  time  there 
were  seventy-eight  Lyceums  in  Massachusetts,  with  a 
state  and  county  organizations.  In  1834  he  went  to 
Pennsylvania,  and  devoted  several  years  in  that  state  to 
lecturing  and  the  organization  of  Lyceums.  One  of  his 
projects  at  this  time  was  a  Universal  Lyceum,  which 
should  unite  the  national  organizations.  He  also  pro 
jected  a  number  of  lyceum  villages.  In  1837,  at  Berea, 
O.,  such  a  village  was  actually  begun,  but  soon  expired. 
Holbrook's  project  was  an  admirable  one,  and  he  devoted 
Jiimself  to  it  with  great  zeal. 

'"When  Emerson  returned  from  Europe  in  1833,  he  at 
once  took  advantage  of  the  interest  in  this  mode  of 
popular  instruction,  created  by  Holbrook.  Gradually 
his  influence,  working  with  many  others,  served  to 
mold  the  Lyceum  into  a  means  of  general  culture ; 
and  its  special  purpose  was  forgotten  in  the  'more  gen 
eral  aim.1  He  drew  to  hear  him  the  eager  enthusiasm 
of  that  day  in  Boston,  and  he  inspired  his  hearers  with 
a  genuine  desire  for  culture..  -  His  influence  and  manner 
during  these  earlier  years"  have  been  better  described 
by  Margaret  Fuller  than  by  any  other.2  In  reviewing 
one  of  his  earlier  volumes  of  essays  for  The  Tribune, 
she  said, — 

"  The  audience  that  waited  for  years  upon  the  lectures  was  never 
large ;  bitt  it  was  select,  and  it  was  constant.  .  .   .  The  charm  of  the 

1  A  very  few  of  the  Lyceums  are  yet  in  existence.    The  Essex  Insti 
tute  at  Salem  carried  out  Holbrook's  idea,  and  is  a  worthy  testimonial 
of  his  i  >urpose.    Emerson  has  given  no  less  than  forty  lectures  before  it. 

2  Life  Without  and  Within,  p.  194. 


258  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

elocution  was  great.  His  general  manner  was  that  of  the  reader> 
occasionally  rising  into  direct  address  or  invocation  in  passages 
where  tenderness  or  majesty  demanded  more  energy.  .  .  .  The  tone 
of  the  voice  was  a  grave  body-tone,  full  and  sweet  rather  than  sono 
rous,  yet  flexible,  and  haunted  by  many  modulations,  as  even  instru 
ments  of  wood  and  brass  seem  to  become  after  they  have  been  long- 
played  on  with  skill  and  taste ;  how  much  more  so  the  human  voice  ! 
In  the  more  expressive  passages  it  uttered  notes  of  silvery  clearness, 
winning,  yet  still  more  commanding.  The  words  uttered  in  these 
tones  floated  awhile  above  us,  then  took  root  in  the  memory  like 
winged  seed. 

"  In  the  union  of  an  even  rustic  plainness  with  lyric  inspirations, 
religious  dignity  with  philosophical  calmness,  keen  sagacity  in  de 
tails  with  boldness  of  view,  we  saw  what  brought  to  mind  the  early 
poets  and  legislators  of  Greece,  —  men  who  taught  their  fellows  to 
plow,  and  avoid  moral  evil,  sing  hymns  to  the  gods,  and  watch  the 
metamorphoses  of  nature.  Ilere  in  civic  Boston  wras  such  a  man,  — 
one  who  could  see  man  in  his  original  grandeur  and  his  original 
childishness,  rooted  in  simple  nature,  raising  to  the  heavens  the 
brow  and  eyes  of  a  poet.  .  .  . 

"  Such  was  the  attitude  in  which  the  speaker  appeared  to  that 
portion  of  the  audience  who  have  remained  permanently  attached  to 
him.  They  value  his  words  as  the  signets  of  reality;  receive  his 
influence  as  a  help  and  incentive  to  a  nobler  discipline  than  the  age, 
in  its  general  aspect,  appears  to  require ;  and  do  not  fear  to  antici 
pate  the  verdict  of  posterity  in  claiming  for  him  the  honors  of 
greatness,  and,  in  some  respects,  of  a  master." 

His  manner  in  his  earlier  years  has  also  been  well  de 
scribed  by  another 1  of  his  hearers  and  admirers :  — 

"  The  modulation  of  his  voice  in  delivering  his  sentences  was 
wonderfully  effective,  and  I  used  to  think  he  was  one  of  the  best 
readers  I  ever  heard.  Commencing  on  a  key,  he  would  continue 
on  the  same  up  to  the  last  word  or  two,  and  then  drop  into  a  deep 
musical  tone  which  was  very  impressive.  Occasionally  at  the  end 
of  a  sentence  he  would  suddenly  stop,  for  what  seemed  a  long  time, 
and,  with  his  eyes  uplifted  upon  his  audience,  looking  like  one  in 
spired.  Every  one  in  the  audience  seemed  to  stop  breathing,  as  if 
afraid  to  mar  the  solemn  impression  produced.  Then  another  sen 
tence  would  be  commenced  on  another  key ;  and,  rising  higher  and 
higher,  his  voice  would  again  drop  to  lower  tones,  like  the  solemn 
peals  of  an  organ." 

/  On  the  lecture-platform  Emerson  seems  to  be  uncon 
scious  of  his  audience,  is  not  disturbed  by  interruptions 
of  any  kind,  by  hisses,  or  by  the  departure  of  disap- 

1  In  a  series  of  letters  published  in  The  Gazette  of  Stapleton,  N.Y. 


AS   A  LECTURER.  259 

pointed  listeners.  He  usually  reads  his  lectures,  though 
he  is  not  always  confined  to  his  manuscript ;  while  he 
often  misplaces  his  sheets,  and  stumbles  over  the  chirog- 
raphy.  He  usually  begins  in  a  slow  and  spiritless  man 
ner,  in  a  low  tone ;  and  he  is  not  fluent  of  speech,  or 
passionate  in  manner.  As  he  proceeds,  he  becomes  ear 
nest  and  magnetic ;  while  the  thrilling  intensity  of  his 
voice  deeply  affects  and  rivets  the  attention  of  his  audi 
ence.  He  is  full  of  mannerisms  in  expression  and  in 
bodily  attitude,  seldom  makes  a  gesture,  and  has  little 
variation  of  voice.  He  secures  the  interest  of  his 
hearers  by  the  simple  grandeur  of  his  thought,  the  in 
spiration  of  his  moral  genius,  the  conviction  and  manli 
ness  which  his  words  express,  and  by  the  silvery  en 
chantment  of  his  voice.  The  glow  of  his  face,  the  mobile 
expressiveness  of  his  features,  the  charm  of  his  smile, 
add  to  the  interest  created  by  his  thought.  It  is  the 
quality  of  his  ideas,  however,  which  attracts  his  hearers. 
His  thought  often  rises  to  the  heights  of  the  purest  elo 
quence.  Such  passages  are  sure  to  command  the  closest 
attention.  It  is  the  glowing  faith  and  the  moral  inten 
sity  of  the  seer  which  gives  them  their  power. 
/As  a  lecturer,  Emerson  makes  a  large  use  of  surprise, 
giving  a  meaning  to  his  words  riot  observed  in  reading 
them.  He  flashes  wit  into  sentences  which  seem  to  be 
sober  enough  when  read  in  his  books.  The  essayist 
needs  to  be  interpreted  by  the  lecturer;  for  his  voice 
and  manner  become  a  fine  commentary  on  his  written 
thought,  giving  to  it  new  and  unexpected  meanings, 
and  a  rich  suggestiveness  not  otherwise  to  be  had.  He 
often  gives  a  wholly  unexpected  turn  to  his  thought, 
which  surprises  and  delights  the  listener,  fastening  an 
idea  for  ever  in  the  memory.  Or  he  suddenly,  as  if  it 
were  a  new  thought,  flashed  suddenly  upon  his  mind, 
after  apparently  having  exhausted  a  subject,  adds  in  a 
lower  tone  some  sentence  which  comes  as  a  revelation, 
arid  opens  new  meanings  to  the  listener.  He  adds  a 
constantly  fresh  interest  to  his  topics  by  such  methods 
as  these,  which  are  peculiar  to  himself.  They  are  so 
spontaneously  used,  with  such  an  air  of  utter  uncon- 


260  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSOX. 

sciousness,  that  they  never  appear  otherwise  than  as  the 
marks  of  a  genuine  simplicity  and  sincerity.^ 

The  deep  and  lasting  impression  he  has  made  upon 
his  hearers  can  best  be  conveyed  in  their  own  words. 
"It  is  a  peculiar  pleasure,  said  Frederika  Bremer,  to 
hear  that  deep,  sonorous  voice  uttering  words  which 
give  the  impression  of  jewels  and  real  pearls  as  they  fall 
from  his  lips."  l  All  his  admirers  have,  in  the  same  way, 
been  enthusiasts  concerning  the  inspiring  power  of  his 
thought  and  the  magnetic  impulse  of  his  voice.  This 
power  to  engage  the  sympathies,  to  arrest  the  attention, 
to  mold  purposes,  to  quicken  with  great  aspirations, 
has  been  well  described  by  Lowell :  — 

"  I  have  heard  some  great  speakers,  and  some  accomplished  ora 
tors,  but  never  any  that  so  moved  and  persuaded  men  as  he. 
There  is  a  kind  of  undertone  in  that  rich  baritone  of  his  that  sweeps 
our  minds  from  their  foothold  into  deep  waters  with  a  drift  we  can 
not  and  would  not  resist.  And  how  artfully  (for  Emerson  is  a 
long-studied  artist  in  these  things)  does  the  deliberate  utterance, 
that  seems  waiting  for  the  first  word,  seem  to  admit  us  partners  in 
the  labor  of  thought,  and  make  us  feel  as  if  the  glance  of  humor 
were  a  sudden  suggestion ;  as  if  the  perfect  phrase  lying  written 
there  on  the  desk  were  as  unexpected  to  him  as  to  us  !  "  2 

One  of  his  townsmen,3  long  familiar  with  him  as  a 
lecturer,  says,  "the  secret  of  his  profound  influence  on 
the  minds  of  his  hearers  and  the  literature  of  the  time 
lies  in  his  creative  and  inspiring  genius,  combined  as  it 
is  with  a  rectitude  and  simplicity  of  the  moral  sense 
which  makes  his  criticism  as  decisive  as  it  is  searching." 
The  same  writer  also  says,  — 

"  Except  the  tones  of  his  voice  (nor  are  these  greatly  varied),  he 
has  few  of  the  graces  of  an  orator.  He  is  neither  fluent,  nor  ex 
cellent  in  action.  It  is  the  quality  of  what  he  says,  not  its  volume, 
or  its  manner  of  expression,  which  fascinates  or  is  remembered. 
His  style  is  admirable.  The  purity  of  his  English,  the  salt  of  his 
wit,  the  simple  grandeur  of  his  periods,  are  agreeable  accidents  of 
his  oratory;  but  they  are  only  accidents.  Its  substance  is  the 
moral  rectitude  which  it  expresses,  the  immediate  flight  which  it 

1  Homes  of  the  New  World,  vol.  i.  p.  254. 

2  My  Study  Windows,  first  printed  in  The  Nation. 

3  P.  B.  Sanborn,  in  The  Boston  Commonwealth  of  Dec.  10,  18G4. 


AS    A   LECTURER.  261 

makes  to  the  listener's  spirit,  like  an  unseen  arrow  cleaving  the 
white  of  the  target." 

His  peculiarities  on  the  platform  have  been  well  de 
scribed  by  another  of  his  admirers,  who  writes  of  him 
at  the  very  zenith  of  his  power  as  a  lecturer :  — 

"The  slight  depression  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  with  a 
touch  of  sternness ;  the  one  arm  extended  from  his  side  farther  and 
farther  as  he  becomes  more  animated  by  his  theme  ;  the  two  or 
three  fingers  of  the  other  hand  pressed  to  his  palm  as  if  holding 
tightly  some  reservation,  —  all  these,  and  other  undefinable  charac 
teristics  that  are  photographed  on  the  mind  of  one  who  has  atten 
tively  listened  to  Emerson,  are  admirably  reproduced  in  the  picture 
of  one  of  his  friends  and  admirers.  But  there  are  some  traits 
which  are  but  faintly,  if  at  all,  suggested  in  the  picture  referred 
to,  that  have  been  developed  in  the  years  that  intervened,  or  which 
perhaps  could  not  have  been  even  hinted  on  canvas.  In  his  more 
recent  life,  Emerson's  American  hearers  have  recognized  a  less 
literary  style  and  tone,  and  a  stronger  desire  to  have  his  views 
adopted.  His  paradoxes  are  stated  with  more  determination.  He 
oftener  turns  aside  from  the  constructive  and  affirmative  method 
natural  to  him  to  strike  some  false  or  sordid  standard  raised  on  his 
path ;  and  one  now  sometimes  sees  his  lip  quiver,  his  eyes  flash, 
and  even  a  certain  wrath  expressed  in  the  dilation  of  his  nostril."  l 

Moses  Coit  Tyler  has  written  with  enthusiasm  of 
Emerson  as  a  teacher  of  eloquence,  and  claims  that 
both  with  his  voice  and  his  pen  his  influence  has  been 
very  great  in  this  direction.  He  has  done  a  great  ser 
vice  in  teaching  us  how  to  speak  English,  and  how  to 
write  strongly  and  to  the  point. 

"  In  his  own  unique  way,  Tyler  says,  he  is  really  a  marvelous 
speaker.  Let  him  the  fit  audience  find,  though  few,  and  he  will 
illustrate  what  it  is  to  speak  golden  words  in  that  natural  style 
of  perfect  sincerity,  tenderness,  and  thoughtfulness  by  which 
every  syllable  is  conducted  straight  home  to  the  faculty  it  was 
meant  for.  For  the  enunciation  of  his  own  sentences  we  call  him 
simply  a  perfect  speaker.  The  manner  fits  the  matter  as  if  cut 
out  for  it  from  eternity.  We  would  not  alter  it  in  one  particular. 
Even  those  qualities  which  some  call  faults  in  his  speaking,  seem  to 
us  merits,  —  the  hesitation,  the  awkwardness,  the  peculiar  prim 

1  M.  DrConway,  in  Eraser's  Magazine  for  May,  1869.  The  picture 
mentioned  was  painted  while  Mr.  Emerson  was  in  England  in  1S48,  by 
David  Scott.  Some  years  ago  it  was  sent  over  to  this  country  for  sale. 
It  was  bought  in  Concord,  and  presented  to  the  Public  Library,  in  the 
reading-room  of  which  it  now  hangs. 


262  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

intonation ;  they  endear  him  to  us  all  the  more,  as  tokens  of  the 
absorption  and  homespun  simplicity  of  the  speaker."  J 

Emerson's  inspiring  qualities  have  already  been  men 
tioned,  and  they  have  been  a  marked  characteristic  of 
his  most  impressive  lectures.  In  his  Concord  Days, 
Alcott  has  admirably  described  his  attitude  as  that  of 
one  repeating  words  which  descend  to  him  from  a 
higher  atmosphere. 

"See  our  Ion  standing  there,  his  audience,  his  manuscript, 
before  him,  himself  also  an  auditor,  as  he  reads,  of  the  Genius 
sitting  behind  him,  and  to  whom  he  defers,  eagerly  catching  the 
words,  —  the  words,  —  as  if  the  accents  were  first  reaching  his 
ears,  too,  and  entrancing  alike  oracle  and  auditor.  We  admire 
the  stately  sense,  the  splendor  of  diction,  and  are  charmed  as  we 
listen.  Even  his  hesitancy  between  the  delivery  of  his  periods,  his 
perilous  passages  from  paragraph  to  paragraph  of  manuscript,  we 
have  almost  learned  to  like." 

This  characteristic  of  extemporaneousness  has  been 
a  marked  one,  even  in  the  delivery  of  his  addresses 
which  were  read  word  for  word.  His  seeming  attempt 
to  catch  fit  words  to  express  his  thought  has  given  a 
singular  charm  to  his  manner.  In  his  earlier  years  he 
tried  speaking  without  a  manuscript ;  but  he  found  he 
could  not  do  it  well,  and  afterwards  attempted  it  but 
seldom.  His  most  casual  addresses  have  usually  been 
carefully  prepared.  That  on  Lincoln,  apparently  writ 
ten  with  the  greatest  care,  so  just  and  discriminating  is 
it,  was  prepared  between  ten  o'clock  and  one  of  the 
night  before  its  delivery.  He  has  been  too  exacting  of 
himself  to  go  before  an  audience  with  any  other  than 
his  best  thought,  carefully  wrought  into  the  best  form 
he  could  give  it.  J  He  once  read  a  poem  before  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  Society  on  Washington,  and  suddenly  sat 
down  in  the  midst  of  it.  A  friend  afterwards  inquired 
the  cause,  and  was  told  the  poem  was  not  what  he 
thought  it  was.  As  he  read,  he  became  dissatisfieu 
with  it,  and  could  not  go  on.  It  has  been  this  demand 
for  perfection  of  expression  which  has  made  him  so 
rigidly  exacting  with  his  essays,  arid  caused  him  to 

1  Mr.  Emerson  as  a  Teacher  of  Eloquence,  in  the  Independent. 


AS   A   LECTURER.  263 

write  them  over  again  and  again.  ^Not  only  has  he 
been  patient  in  his  literary  elaboration,  but  he  has  been 
mindful  of  the  character  of  his  audiences,  and  has 
sought  to  give  each  that  which  it  could  best  assimilate. 
/Though  anxious  to  reach  the  needs  of  those  to  whom 
he  spoke,  he  has  been  even  more  desirous  of  giving  his 
hearers  only  that  which  was  worth  their  attention.  He 
has  insisted  he  could  afford  to  give  his  hearers  only  the 
very  best  of  which  he  was  capable,  and  that  he  ought 
to  give  them  as  much  as  possible  in  each  lecture./  This 
has  been  another  reason  for  his  habit  of  rigid  condensa 
tion. 

/Emerson  has  always  continued  a  preacher.  He  has 
never  lectured  to  amuse,  or  to  interest,  or  for  money 
alone.  Nor  has  he  lectured  simply  to  instruct,  but  to 
improve,  inspire,  and  reform.  His  aim  has  always  been 
that  of  the  preacher,  differing  only  in  manner  of  treat 
ment  and  in  range  of  matter.  He  has  been  a  preacher 
of  religion,  not  of  any  outward  form  of  it,  but  especially 
of  religion  as  expressed  in  the  garb  of  the  purest  mo 
rality.  A  preacher  without  a  pulpit,  he  surely  has  been  ; 
but  all  the  more  influence  has  he  wielded,  because 
perfectly  free  to  obey  his  own  conscience  and  to  speak 
what  has  seemed  to  him  the  truth.  His  preaching 
has  consequently  been  direct,  unsparing  in  its  denun 
ciations  of  evil,  and  pungent  with  a  strong  sense  of  the 
follies  of  modern  society.  His  subjects  have  nearly 
always  had  the  strongest  moral  bearing,  and  his  treat 
ment  of  them  expresses  the  purpose  to  purify  and 
elevate  the  standards  of  conduct.  His  marked  in 
fluence  as  a  lecturer,  the  secret  of  his  power  over  so 
many  minds,  is  to  be  found  in  the  ethical  and  prophetic 
nature  of  -  his  utterances.  He  has  been  more  than  a 
lecturer,  preacher,  or  critic;  he  has  been  an  inspirer, 
a  seer,  a  moral  illuminator. 

He  has  never  been  a  popular  lecturer,  but  he  has 
steadily  gained  the  increasing  interest  of  the  cultured 
and  intelligent^)  Lowell  says  he  "  always  draws,"  and 
it  is  from  this  class.  "  A  lecturer  now  for  something 
like  a  third  of  a  century,  one  of  the  pioneers  of  the 


204  BALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

lecturing  system,  the  charm  of  his  voice,  his  manner, 
and  his  matter  has  never  lost  its  power  over  his  earlier 
hearers,  and  continually  winds  new  ones  in  its  enchant 
ing  meshes."  Alcott  says  that  "  such  is  the  charm  of 
his  manner,  that  wherever  he  appears,  the  cultivated 
cla—  -111  delight  in  his  utterances."  It  is  the  culti 
vated  who  will  best  appreciate  his  lectures,  those  who 
have  read  and  thought  much.  Many  amusing  anecdotes 
have  been  told  of  the  people  who  have  gone  to  hear  him, 
drawn  thither  by  his  reputation.  A  well-known  literary 
lady  once  watched  with  great  amusement  one  of  these 
persons.  It  was  a  lady  from  the  fashionable  circles, 
who  supposed  it  to  be  quite  proper  and  desirable  to 
hear  Emerson,  the  famous  lecturer.  Her  face  was  a 
study,  as  she  listened  with  surprise,  then  with  blank 
amazement,  and  as  she  finally  gave  up  all  attempt  to 
comprehend  the  lecture.  Emerson  recognizes  the  fact, 
that  many  people  do  not  enjoy  his  lectures.  Some  years 
ago,  when  invited  to  Arm  Arbor,  lie  inquired,  "  Are  there 
any  people  there  who  have  thoughts  ?  " 

In  conversation  Emerson  is  somewhat  reticent,  not 
always  expressing  himself  with  freedom  and  fullness. 
He  hesitates  for  words,  and  seems  to  find  it  difficult  to 
secure  the  precise  expression  he  desires.  He  speaks  on 
the  lecture-platform  much  as  he  converses.  Those  who 
have  ascribed  to  him  an  artificial  and  studied  manner 
as  a  lecturer,  are  probably  not  aware  of  how  perfectly 
natural  to  the  man  are  all  his  movements  and  words. 
Indeed,  his  oddity  of  expression  is  not,  as  has  so  often 
been  said,  cultivated,  but  the  natural  manner  of  the 
man.  He  talks  as  he  writes.  In  his  conversation  there 
is  the  same  antithesis  and  abrupt  transition  to  be  found 
as  in  his  books.  He  does  not  think  continuously;  he 
does  not  in  conversation  follow  a  subject  through,  but 
hesitates,  skips  intervening  ideas,  is  unable,  apparently, 
to  hold  his  mind  to  all  the  links  of  thought.  It  is  not 
natural  to  him  to  do  so.  He  does  not  think  logically, 
but  intuitively,  sees  and  seizes  at  a  glance,  in  bold 
generalizations,  but  is  unable  to  follow  and  arrange  the 
intervening  step^  from  premise  to  conclution  His  con- 


AS   A   LECTURER.  265 

versational  powers",  however,  have  been  great;  and  his 
conversation  is  rapt,  fascinating,- and  attractive.  In  de 
scribing  a  visit  to  Emerson,1  as  a  young  man,  Conway 
has  given  an  account  of  it.  Emerson  took  him  to  Wal- 
den  Pond,  where  they  rowed,  bathed,  and  talked. 

"  Having  bathed,  we  sat  down  on  the  shore ;  and  then  Walden 
and  her  beautiful  woods  began  to  utter  their  paeans  through  his 
lips.  Emerson's  conversation  was  different  from  that  of  any 
person  I  have  ever  met  with,  and  unequalled  by  that  of  any  one, 
unless  it  be  that  of  Thomas  Caiiyle.  Of  course  there  is  no  com 
parison  of  the  two  possible,  but  the  contrasts  between  them  are  very 
striking  and  significant.  In  speaking  of  that  which  he  conceives  to 
be  ignorant  error,  Mr.  Caiiyle  is  vehement ;  and  when  he  suspects 
an  admixture  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy,  his  tone  is  that  of  rage ; 
and  although  his  indignation  is  noble  and  the  utterances  always 
thrilling,  yet  when  one  recurs  to  the  little  man  or  thing  at  which 
they  are  often  leveled,  it  seems  to  be  like  the  bombardment  of  a 
sparrow's  nest  with  shot  and  shell.  On  such  Emerson  merely  darts 
a  spare  beam  of  his  wit,  beneath  which  a  lie  is  sure  to  shrivel ;  but 
if  he  breaks  any  one  on  his  wheel,  it  must  be  some  one  who  has 
been  admitted  at  the  banquet  of  the  gods,  and  violated  their  laws. 
Every  one  who  has  witnessed  the  imperial  dignity,  or  felt  the 
weight  of  authentic  knowledge,  which  characterize"  Mr.  Carlyle's 
conversation,  to  such  an  extent  that  even  his  light  utterances  seem 
to  stand  out  like  the  pillars  of  Hercules,  must  also  have  felt  the 
earth  tremble  before  the  thunders  and  lightnings  of  his  wrath ; 
but  with  Emerson,  though  the  same  falsehood  is  fatally  smitten,  it 
is  by  the  invisible,  inaudible  sun-stroke,  which  has  left  the  sky  as 
bright  and  blue  as  before.  For  the  rest,  and  when  abstract  truths 
and  principles  are  discussed,  whilst  Caiiyle  astonishes  us  by  the 
range  of  his  sifted  knowledge,  he  does  not  convey  an  equal  impres' 
don  of  having  originally  thought  out  the  various  problems  in  other 
departments  than  those  which  are  plainly  his  own;  but  there  is 
scarcely  a  realm  of  science  or  art  in  whiciTEmerson  could  not  be  to 
some  extent  the  instructor  of  the  Academies.  Agassiz,  as  I  have 
heard  Lira  say,  prefers  his  conversation  on  scientific  questions  to  thai 
of  any  other.  I  remember  him  on  that  day  at  Walden  as  Bunyan's 
Pilgrim  might  have  remembered  the  Interpreter.  The  growths 
around,  the  arrow-head,  and  the  orchis,  were  intimations  of  that 
mystic  unity  in  nature,  which  is  the  fountain  of  poetry  to  him  ; 
either  of  these,  or  of  many  others  of  the  remarkably  rich  fauna  of 
that  region,  excited  emotions  much  more  solemn  than  the  aesthetic 
in  him.  Ilg  fully  felt  that  if  we  only  knew  how  to  look  around,  we 
would  not  have  need  to  look  above.'' 

1  Fraser's  Magazine  for  August,  1874. 


266  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

He  is  one  of  the  best  of  listeners,  whoever  may  be 
speaking,  seeming  to  drink  in  all  that  is  said,  and  giving 
the  approval  of  his  gracious  smile  to  whatever  attracts 
his  attention.  He  is  even  more  ready  to  listen  than  to 
speak.  What  he  says  is  to  the  point,  clearly  stated,  and 
in  a  serious,  earnest  tone ;  but  his  conversation  is  not 
brilliant  in  those  ways  which  gave  to  Margaret  Fuller's 
marvelous  conversational  powers  a  place  of  their  own. 
It  is  not  his  to  fascinate  and  attract  by  the  ceaseless 
monologue  of  a  versatile  talker;  for  he  would  make 
conversation  an  act  of  friendship,  and  finds  its  charm 
broken  by  the  presence  of  more  than  two.  Yet  he  al 
ways  speaks  wisely,  and  with  a  charm  and  interest  all 
his  own.  He  does  not  talk  easily  or  much,  and  needs 
the  stimulus  of  a  sympathetic  and  vigorous  mind  to 
draw  out  his  best  treasures  of  thought.  In  the  midst  of 
a  company  of  bright  minds,  he  is  not  exuberant,  never 
bubbles  over  ;  but  what  he  says  is  marked  by  a  keen  wit 
and  a  full  wisdom,  rich,  appropriate,  and  remarkable. 
His  conversation,  when  his  mind  is  stimulated  by  a 
great  theme  and  a  sympathetic  friend,  is  inspiring  even 
beyond  his  lectures  ;  and  then  he  pours  forth  his  thought 
in  the  purest  strain  of  noble  words.  In  this  way,  his  in 
fluence  over  his  friends  has  been  very  great ;  and  to 
many  a  mind  his  conversation  has  been  an  inspiration. 
"  I  enjoyed  Emerson's  conversation,  says  Miss  Bremer, 
which  flowed  as  calmly  and  easily  as  a  deep  and  placid 
river.  It  was  animating  to  me,  both  when  I  agreed,  and 
when  I  dissented ;  there  is  always  a  something  impor 
tant  in  what  he  says ;  and  he  listens  well,  and  compre 
hends  and  replies  well  also."  Animating  and  rich  and 
suggestive  his  conversation  surely  has  been,  and  the 
source,  doubtless,  of  much  of  his  subtle  influence  over 
tho^se  minds  which  have  come  nearest  to  his  own. 

/What  an  influence  his  lectures  have  been!  Great 
teachers  have  in  all  ages  gathered  crowds  of  students 
about  them.  Great  preachers  have  held  sway  over  the 
lives  of  admiring  multitudes.  In  our  own  time  some  of 
the  best  thinkers  and  writers  have  consented  to  address 
the  people  on  their  favorite  themes.  Reformers  have 


AS   A  LECTURER.  267 

devoted  their  Jives  to  the  spoken  advocacy  of  some 
great  reform. /'Popular  oratory  has  developed  the  pro 
fessional  lecturer,  who  amuses  and  interests^'  Political 
eloquence  has  ever  had-  its  great  names,  its  fascinating 
orators  and  debaters.  /The  place  of  Emerson,  however, 
is  unique.  He  has  not  been  a  clergyman,  professor, 
popular  lecturer,  or  a  statesman^  He  has  not  been  a 
Socrates,  Abelard,  Savonarola,  Whitefield,  Webster,  or 
a  Phillips.  He  has  not  spoken,  either  from  the  vantage- 
ground  of  a  pulpit,  professor's  chair,  or  senate  chamber ; 
yet  how  great  has  been  his  influence,  how  magnetic  his 
power,  how  commanding  his  position,  and  how  likely  to 
be  enduring  !  No  pulpit  has  cramped  him,  no  profes 
sor's  chair  has  narrowed  his  thought,  no  party  has  stul 
tified  his  influence.  (He  has  been  a  teacher  of  the  peo 
ple,  an  inspirer  of  students,  a  friend  of  every  great  cause. 
There  are  few  other  examples  of  a  man  giving  his  life 
to  teaching  his  countrymen  the  highest  lessons  of  reli 
gion,  culture,  and  morals,  untrammeled  by  party,  sect, 
or  place.  He  has  created  a  new  vocation,  opened  a  new 
road  for  the  moralist  and  preacher,  hinted  at  new  possi 
bilities  of  reform,  suggested  that  oratory  can  be  used 
for  a  larger  purpose.  His  career  as  a  lecturer  may  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  chapters  in  lit 
erary  history,  and  his  devotion  to  this  self-chosen  and 
self-created  vocation  has  been  as  singular  as  it  has  been 
inspiring.  It  is  as  yet  impossible  rightly  to  estimate 
the  importance  of  his  influence,  or  to  see  how  subtle  arid 
intrinsic  has  been  the  effect  of  his  lectures.  The  future 
of  religion,  morals,  and  literature  in  the  Republic, 
alone  can  rightly  decide  how  important  his  word,  and 
how  penetrating  his  thought ! )  What  he  has  already  ac 
complished,  however,  is  guaranty  of  what  will  follow. 


268  BALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


XIX. 

PLACE   AMONG   THINKERS. 

Tj^MERSON  belongs  in  the  succession  of  the  Idealists. 
-A— ^  That  company  he  loves  wherever  its  members  are 
found,  whether  among  Buddhists  or  Christian  mystics, 
whether  Transcendentalist  or  Sufi^  whether  Saadi, 
Boehme,  Fichte,  or  Carlyle.  These  are  the  writers  he 
studies,  these  the  men  he  quotes,  these  the  thinkers  who 
come  nearest  his  own  thought.  He  is  in  the  succession 
of  minds  who  have  followed  in  the  wake  of  Plato,  who  is 
regarded  by  him  as  the  world's  greatest  thinker.  More 
directly  still,  Emerson  is  in  that  succession  of  thinkers 
represented  by  Plotinus,  Eckhart,  and  Schelling,  who 
have  interpreted  idealism  in  the  form  of  mysticism. 

The  person  who  lays  a  stress  ,^011  the  worth  of  ideas, 
who  regards  the  mind  as  existing  before  the  body,  and 
as  giving  form  to  it,  is  an  idealist.  Idealism  looks 
upon  the  world  of  ideas  or  of  mind  as  original  and 
causative ;  it  beholds  the  world  of  matter  as  proceed 
ing  from  mind  and  as  shaped  by  it.  Spirit  creates,  it 
says ;  mind  is  primal.  Matter  is  but  a  garment  of 
spirit,  the  material  world  is  phenomenal.  As  a  true 
idealist,  Emerson  said,  "  Mind  is  the  only  reality,  of 
which  men  and  all  other  natures  are  better  or  worse 
reflectors."  1  "  Our  soul,"  says  Bartol,  Emerson's  friend 
and  an  enthusiastic  believer  in  idealism,  "  is  older  than 
our  organism.  It  precedes  its  clothing.  It  is  the  cause, 
not  the  consequence."  Idealism  says  there  is  a  Univer 
sal  Spirit,  of  which  nature  and  man  are  alike  manifes 
tations,  —  a  Spirit  which  is  not  'only  the  original,  but 
the  immanent  and  sustaining  cause  of  all  things.  Man 
is  a  spark  from  the  Universal  Spirit,  a  torch  lighted  at 

1  Lecture  on  Transcendentalism,  Miscellanies,  p.  323. 


AS   A   THINKER.  269 

tliis  altar,  and  manifests  in  miniature  all  the  character 
istics  of  his  original.  Nature  proceeds  from  the  same 
source,  and  embodies  on  a  lower  plane  the  thoughts  of 
God ;  its  laws  are  his  ideas.  All  that  nature  contains 
was  first  in  God  as  types,  ideas,  thoughts  ;  and  its  sole 
purpose  is  to  serve  as  an  outward  expression  of  these. 
Idealism  asserts  the  unity  and  perfect  correspondence  y 
of  thought  and  being  or  of  ideas  and  things,  that  the 
material  world  is  the  image  or  symbol  of  the  ideal  or 
spiritual  world.  Emerson  states  this  doctrine  in  sayiug 
that  "  every  sensible  object  subsists  not  for  itself,  nor 
finally  to  a,  material  end,  but  as  a  picture-language  to 
tell  another  story,  of  beings  and  duties." 

Strictly  speaking,  Emerson  is  not  a  philosopher. 
Several  philosophic  problems  have  deeply  interested 
him,  and  he  has  found  for  them  a  solution.  His  writ 
ings  constantly  touch  upon  these  problems,  while  these 
solutions  of  them  are  the  occasion  for  many  of  his  best 
essays  and  poems.  Yet  he  does  not  see  life  and  its 
questions  from  the  purely  philosophic  outlook,  ancThiris 
not  ajreasoner  or  a  dialectician.  IIetr 
more  than~tcTreason,  is  in  sympathy  with  the  moral  and 
theosophic  rather  than  with  the  metaphysical  writers. 
He  prefers  Boehme,  Schelling,  and  Coleridge  to 
Descartes,  Kant,  and  Hegel.  He  is  more  a  seer  than  a 
thinker,  less  a  philosopher  than  a  poet.  With  specu 
lative  philosophy,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  he 
has  had  nothing  to  do,  has  probably  never  made  him 
self  familiar  with  it,  and  has  had  little  interest  in  its 
methods.  Its  great  teachers,  with  the  exception  of 
Plato,  he  has  not  studied.  . 

"  His  intellect  is  intuitive,  says  Whipple,  contemplative,  but 
not  reflective.  It  contains  no  considerable  portion  of  the  element 
which  is  essential  to  the  philosopher.  His  ideas  proceed  from  the 
light  of  genius  and  from  wise  observation  of  N  ature ;  they  come 
in  flashes  of  inspiration  and  ecstasy ;  his  pure  gold  is  found  in 
places  near  the  surface,  not  brought  out  laboriously  from  the 
depths  of  the  mine  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  He  has  no  taste 
for  the  apparently  arid  abstractions  of  philosophy.  His  mind  is 
not  organized  for  the  comprehension  of  its  sharp  distinctions.  Its 
acuto  reasonings  present  no  charm  to  his  fancy,  and  its  lucid 


270  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

deductions  are  to  him  as  destitute  of  fruit  as  an  empty  nest  of 
boxes.  In  the  sphere  of  pure  reflection  he  has  shown  neither 
originality  nor  depth.  He  has  thrown  no  light  on  the  great  topics 
of  speculation.  He  has  never  fairly  grappled  with  the  metaphys 
ical  problems  which  have  called  forth  the-  noblest  efforts  of  the 
mind  in  every  age,  and  which,  not  yet  reduced  to  positive  science, 
have  not  ceased  to  enlist  the  clearest  and  strongest  intellects  in  the  • 
work  of  their  solution.  On  all  questions  of  this  kind  the  writings 
of  Emerson  are  wholly  unsatisfactory.  lie  looks  at  them  only  in 
the  light  of  the  imagination.  lie  frequently  offers  bravo  hints, 
pregnant  suggestions,  cheering  encouragements,  but  no  exposition 
of  abstract  truth  has  ever  fallen  from  his  keen  pen."  l 

With  a  few  qualifications  this  opinion  may  be  accepted 
as  substantially  correct.  Emerson  btrlongo  to  that  class 
of  literary  geniuses,  such  as  Rousseau,  Herder,  Lessing, 
and  Coleridge,  who  are  the  intellectual  awakeners  and 
stimulators  of  their  age ;  not  the  thinkers  of  a  genera 
tion,  but  its  inspirers.  They  are  mnyod  by  frrlin^i 
jjYingiiia.finnr  n.nd  intuition  ;  Jbut  th ey  open  the  way  to 
new  possibilities  of  life,  action,  and  thought.  Each  of 
fhftgfl  rnon  Iv.ig  Vn'f7TVp,paria^fftiiTnm^y(^su)n  on  the  suc- 
which  is  not  at  all  to  be  meas- 


ured  by  his  clearness  of  thought  or  by  the  permanent 
character  of  his  writings.  These  men  have  been  the 
re-constructors  of  the  modern  world,  the  re-builders  of 
life,  art,  literature,  and  religion.  Emerson  belongs  to 
that  company  of  illuminated  souls  who  have  done  for 
the  modern  world  what  the  sages,  prophets,  and  seers 
did  for  the  ancient  world.  The  revival  of  Greek 
literature,  science,  philosophy,  the  French  Revolution, 
Voltaire,  destroyed  the  world  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
left  men  amidst  the  ruins  in  doubt  and  darkness. 
From  amid  the  ruins  thus  produced,  these  men  have 
been  the  creators  of  the  modern  world,  in  which  man, 
nature,  and  progress  are  the  words  which  represent  its 
leading  characteristics. 

>f  the  intuitionalschool ;  but 
as  he  has  not  been  a  system-builder,  so  -he  has  ranged 
widely  for  the  materials  of  his  thought,  finds  every 
where  aids  to  the  elaboration  of  his  ideas.  Emile 

1  The  Independent.  18G7. 


AS   A   THINKER.  271 

Montegut  says  he  has  the  traits  of  the  modern  sage,  — 
absence  of  the  dogmatic  spirit,  and  a  tendency  to 
criticism  of  principles.  The  sage  follows  his  own 
nature,  trusts  to  spontaneity. 

"  Emerson  belongs  to  this  class  of  philosophers,  says  Montegut.  , 
He  has  all  the  qualities  of  the  sage,  —  originality,  spontaneity, 
sagacious  observation,  delicate  analysis,  criticism,  absence  of  dog 
matism.  He  collects  all  the  materials  of  a  philosophy,  without 
reducing  it  to  a  system ;  he  thinks  a  little  at  random,  and  often  t 
meditates  without  finding  definite  limits  at  which  this  meditation 
ceases.  His  books  are^.  very  remarkable,  not  only  for  the  philosophy 
which  they  contain,  but  also  for  the  criticism  of  our  times.  He  is 
full  of  justice  towards  the  doctrines  and  the  society  he  criticises ; 
he  finds  that  the  conservatives  have  legitimate  principles  ;  he  thinks 
that  the  transceiidentalists  are  probably  right ;  he  does  not  look 
with  scorn  upon  our  socialistic  doctrines.  He  searches  for  his 
authorities  through  the  entire  history  of  philosophy ;  and  thus,  after 
having  listened  to  all  the  modern  doctrines  with  complaisance  and 
patience,  he  breaks  silence  to  give  us  maxims  that  might  have 
issued  now  from  the  school  of  the  Portico,  and  now  from  the 
gardens  of  the  Academy.  .  .  .  All  the  names  of  ancient  and 
modern  philosophers  are  cited  together,  as  if  they  expressed  the 
same  opinion.. .  Skeptics  and  mystics,  rationalists  and  pantheists, 
are  side  by  side.  Schelling,  Oken,  Spinoza,  Plato,  Kant,  Sweden- 
borg,  Coleridge,  meet  on  the  s^ame  page.  In  this  country  of  democ 
racy,  all  thinkers  seem  brothers ;  distance  effaces  the  differences, 
and  blends  them  all  into  the  same  light.  Emerson  sees  the  works 
of  oar  philosophers  marked  simply  with  the  seal  of  truth  and 
human  genius,  and  not  bearing  the  stamp  of  the  genius  loci."  1 

It  is  this  remarkable  capacity  for  drinking  from  many 
fountains,  culling  his  sweets  from  every  variety  of 
flower,  which  justifies  Noah  Porter  in  calling  him 
"  the  wide-minded  Emerson."  2  It  is  this  same  charac- 
te/istic  which  has  led  to^  his  .being  Called  a  philosopher, 
-poet,  seer,  critic,  moral  diagnoser,  literary  creator,  by 
different  persons.  He  has  been  compared  with  Carlyle, 
Goethe,  Herder,  Rousseau,  Spinoza,  Marcus  Aurelius ; 
and  yet  how  different  is  he  from  each  and  all !  He 
writes  now  like  a  Puritan  moralist,  or  a  Montaigne,  or 
an  Epictotus;  but  anon  how  like  he  is  to  Schelling, 

1  An  American  Thinker  and  Poet,  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  Aug.  1, 
1847. 

2  Books  and  Reading,  p.  70. 


272  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

Boehme,  or  Plotinus !  On  one  page  he  is  a  grim 
believer  in  fate  and  nature ;  the  next  shows  how  strong 
his  faith  in  divine  grace,  that  we  are  nothing  but  by 
the  will  of  God ;  and  only  a  page  or  two  beyond,  he 
asserts  the  absolute  spontaneity  of  the  mystic ;  before 
the  essay  ends,  he  is  a  sober  moralist  teaching  the 
plainest  lessons  of  duty.  That  he  seizes  something  of 
truth  from  all  these  many  and  antagonistic  sources  is 
not  the  most  striking  characteristic  of  his  mind,  but 
that  he  blends  them  into  a  united  and  consistent  whole. 
He  does  this  by  the  aid  of  insight,  not  by  reason.  He 
does  not  cull  at  random  the  ingredients  of  his  essays ; 
intuition  discovers  relations  and  a  unity  where  reason 
halts  and  the  dialectical  method  sees  only  antagonism. 

Though  Emerson  has  ranged  somewhat  widely  for 

the  materials  of  his  thought,  yet  his  philosophic  affinity 

has  been  with  a  special  and  a  very  limited  school  of 

/   thinkers.     His  manner  of  thinking  wao  oarly  and-rury 

r  deeply  affectgd  fry  P1n.tr>.  /"That  great  thinker  believed 

1  in  a  supersensible,  wo  rid,  wKere  all  things  are  in  the 

L  form   of  ideas.     The    material  world   is   but   a   crude 

/  image  or  reflection   of  this  spiritual  world.     Man  once 

ti    dwelt    in    the    supersensible    world,    but    his    desires 

I     brought  him  into  the  world  of  sense.     His  reason  is 

/     even  yet  a  direct  organ  of  knowledge  of  the  super- 

^X  sensible,  and  by  its  aid  he   can  know  its  truths  with 

absolute  certainty.     Mind  prnp.p.dp^  thfi  body:  while  the 

soul  is  an  active,  creative ^pririciple.     Plato  dwells  mucn 

on  Thu  puwurs"  iiiid   e'telTilty  of  tile   snnTjWrul    frpnihiin 

Emeraon  IpanuHLJnsjjwn  soujjajth.  'From  hhjiraTsa, 

Emerson  caught  his  optimism~i"Tiis  trust  in  the  good, 

anj^'his  conviction  lhartr~evii  is   but  ashadow.     Plnfn 

_tation  of  the  universe,  and  he  makes  perfect   truth  and 
perfect  virtue  to  be  synonymous. 


he  says,  and  goodness  is  a  true  source  of  knowledge. 
In  his  -new  readings"  of  Plato,  in  Representative  Men, 
in  enumerating  the  several  doctrines  taught  by  him, 
Emerson  gives  clear  indication  whence  many  of  his 
own  leading  ideas  came.  He  mentions  the  law  of  con- 


AS    A    THINKER.  273 

traries  ;  man  a-s  a  microcosm,  or  that  each  thing  reflects 
all  other  things ;  compensation ;  "  the  laws  below  are 
sisters  of  the  laws  above  ;  "  "  the  coincidence  of  science 
and  virtue ; "  the  supersensible  is  under  the  domain  of 
law ;  "  the  self-evolving  power  of  spirit ; "  the  scale  of 
the  mind,  or  that  life  ranges  in  stages  one  above  the 
other,  each  reflecting  the  one  above  it ;  and  that  man 
has  come  up  from  the  lower  orders  of  life  in  the  self- 
evolving  ascent  of  spirit.  All  these  theories  have  a 
prominent  place  in  Emerson's  essays,  and  they  may  be 
said  to  form  thesubstantial  basis  and  framework  of  his 
speculations*  file  probably  comes  nearer  to  accepting 
the  whole  of  Plato's  philosophy  than  that  of  any  other 
thinker.^/ 

As  has  been  the  case  with  nearly  every  great  teacher, 
Plato  has  been  a  fruitful  fountain  of  speculation  to  later 
thinkers ;  and  various  schools  have  branched  off  from 
him.  His  most  affirmative  and  his  religious  ideas  gave 
rise  to  a  school  which  has  had  its  representatives  in  every 
age  since  his  time.  Its  greatest  name  in  the  ancient 
world  was  Plotinus,  who  was  also  early  and  earnestly 
studied  by  Emerson.  In  the  middle  of  the  third  cen 
tury  after  Christ,  Plotinus  took  up  Plato's  theory  of 
the  co-eternity  of  ..the  soul  with  its  ideas,  and  of  the 
sameness  of  their  substance  and  origin,  and  interpreted 
it  as  teaching  the  identity  of  nature  and  soul,  things 
and  reason.  Many  of  the  followers,  of  Plato  regarded 
nature  and  reason  as  being  distinct ;  but  Plotinus  iden 
tified  them,  and  taught  they  were  only  forms  of  the 
same  eternal  Absolute.  Plotinus  arid  the  school  he 
formed,  known  as  the  Neo-Platonists,  were  doubtless 
affected  by  Pythagoras,  Philo,  the  philosophy  of  Persia, 
and  perhaps  even  that  of  India ;  but  they  regarded  them 
selves  as  legitimate  interpreters  of  the  great  master. 
While  Plato  taught  that  there  were  many  distinct  ideas, 
that  of  the  Good  being  the  highest,  Plotinus  elevated 
the  Good  or  the  One  above  the  world  of  ideas.  He  re 
garded  the  material  universe  and  the  universe  of  ideas 
as  alike  emanations  from  the  One.  From  the  One 
emanates  the  world  of  ideas,  from  ideas  the  soul,  while 


274  RALPH    WALDO    EMEIISON. 

from  the  soul  emanates  the  sensible  world.  This  theory 
re-appears  frequently  in  modern  times,  as  the  successive 
spheres  of  Swedenborg,  the  potences  of  Schelling,  and  it 
is  a  favorite  teaching  of  Emerson's.  Plotinu&laught  that 
man  nuts  forth  the  world  out  of  himself,  because  ot'Jiis 
lust  for  the  sensibTe)\yeJ;  as  man  subdues  the  sense,sjic 
rp±iirns,  JIH.P.TT  towards^  GocL  Vhe  chief  means  to  t^is 
return  is  jjiiJiiUpn,  or  _pos^asv.  by  which  man  rises  above 
the  sensible  world  into  a  direct  knowing  and  seeing  of 
the  supersensible  and  its  truth.  Around  Plotinna.  and 
his  predecessor,  Arnmonius  Saccas,  there  grew  up  a 
distinct  school  of  thought,  teaching  the  philosophic 

majj^r,  and  making  intuitionTn^metBod  of  know^T?. 
One  of  his  disciples  was  Porphyry,  ~who  distinctly 
taught  that  matter  emanates  from  the  supersensible  or 
from  the  soul.  Amelius  departed  so  far  from  Plotinus 
as"  to  teach  the  unity  of  all  souls  in  the  world-soul,  a 
favorite  doctrine  of  Emerson's.  A  Christian  teacher, 
Synesius,  at  the  middle  of  the  fifth  century  made  this 
philosophy  the  basis  of  his  Christianity.  Contemporary 
with  him  was  Proclus,  its  last  great  pagan  representative. 
Not  long  after,  it  appeared  in  a  remarkable  defense  of 
Christianity  by  an  anonymous  writer,  known  as  the 
Pseudo-Dion}ysius,  or  Areopagite.  In  Emerson's  essay 
on  Lut-ell(ji;t,  there  is  to  be  found  a  striking  proof  of  his 
great  indebtedness  to  the  Platonic  school.  Its  leading 
Hp-ftH  are  thrvap  of  tb^  N^o-PLatom'sts,  as  that  the  intellect 
is  impersonal,  that  we  are  nothing  of  ourselves,  that  all 
thinking  is  a  pious  reception  of  truth  from  above,Hhat 

ring     poT^rir^     Trii^w^    ft?    mnr-1^    QC     nnnfli^r     that    silenC6TlS 

necessary  for  the  incoming  of  God's  grace,  that  entire 
self-reliance  belongs  to  the  intellect  as  a  representative 
of-.tlieJuJjjija&aulr'-  The  basis  of  this  teaching  is  thatj)f 
thp  iinjfry  of  all  sprain  fhp  wnrlrWml  \frhe  derTendence 
rf.man  for  real  knowledge  upon  intuition,  and  thajj^tui- 

S4*UoibIu  wurld.  After  eloquently  defending  these  ideas, 
he  points  to  this  company  of  Greek  thinkers  for  confir 
mation  of  their  truthfulness;  and  lie  pays  a  glowing 


AS    A   THINKER.  275 

tribute  to  the  value  of  their  teaching.  That  he  should 
in  this  lecture,  in  which  he  presents  his  own  theory  of 
knowing,  devote  its  closing  passage  to  an  eloquent 
defense  of  the  whole  school  of  Platonic  thinkers,  affords 
remarkable  confirmation  of  their  influence  over  his 
thinking.  His  words  are  these  : J  — - 

"  I  can  not  recite,  even  thus  rudely,  laws  of  the  intellect,  without 
remembering  that  lofty  and  sequestered  class  of  men  who  have  been 
its  prophets  and  oracles,  the  high-priesthood  of  the  pure  reason, 
the  Trixmegisti,  the  expounders  of  the  principles  of  thought  from 
age  to  age.  When,  at  long  intervals,  we  turn  over  their  abstruse 
pages,  wonderful  seems  the  calm  and  grand  air  of  these  few,  these 
great  spiritual  lords,  who  have  walked  in  the  world,  —  these  of  the 
old  religion,  —  dwelling  in  a  worship  which  makes  the  sanctities  of 
Christianity  look  parvenucs  and  popular ;  for  '  persuasion  is  in 
soul,  but  necessity  is  in  intellect.'^  This  band  of  grandees,  Hermes, 
Heraclitus,  Empedocles,  Plato,  Plotinus,  Olympiodorus,  Proclus, 
Synesius,  and  the  rest,  have  somewhat  so  vast  in  their  logic,  so 
primary  in  their  thinking,  that  it  seems  antecedent  to  all  the  ordi 
nary  distinctions  of  rhetoric  and  literature,  and  to  be  at  once  poetry 
and  music  and  dancing  and  astronomy  and  mathematics,  The 
truth  and  grandeur  of  their  thought  is  proved  by  its  scope  and 
applicability,  for  it  commands  the  entire  schedule  and  inventory  of 
things  for  its  illustration." 

After  Proclus,  Neo-Platonism  passed  over  to  Christian 
ity,  and  it  became  the  basis  of  Augustine's  theology. 
At  the  end  of  the  fifth  century  it  was  taught  by  Boe- 
thius,  and  at  the  middle  of  the  ninth  it  was  taken 
up  by  John  Scotus  Erigena.  Its  ideas  frequently  ap 
peared  down  to  the  time  of  the  Schoolmen,  when  they 
affected  Albertus  Magnus,  Duns  Scotus,  and  Thomas 
Aquinas.  At  this  period  they  re-appeared  in  Eck- 
hart  in  a  new  and  distinct  form,  and  have  finally  been 
adopted  by  a  remarkable  school  of  modern  thinkers. 
Eckhart  taught  at  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  cen 
tury,  held  high  offices  in  the  church,  was  a  famous 
preacher,  but  was  brought  before  the  Inquisition  and 
had  twenty-eight  of  his  doctrines  condemned.  He  based 
his  theology  on  Neo-Platonism,  especially  on  the  teach 
ings  of  J:he  Pseudo-Dionysius,  and  was  influenced  by 
Augustine,  Albertus  Magnus,  and  Thomas  Aquinas. 

i  Essays,  first  series,  p.  313. 


276  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

s  ^f-^* 

Though  Emerson  has  not  studied  Eckhart-  many  0 
favorite  ideas  will  be  found  presented  by  that  thinker. 
With  Eckhart,  perhaps  even  before  with  Erigena,  the 
Neo-Platonic  doctrine  of  emanation  was  abandoned  for 
that  of  immanence  ;  and  God  is  regarded  as  the  indwell 
ing  life  of  the  world.  "  The  essence  of  all  creatures,  he 
says,  is  eternally  a  divine  life  in  Deity."  Out  of  God 
nothing  can  exist,  the  outward  world  is  a  symbol  of  his 
innermost  essence,  and  evil  is  but  a  privation  cf  the  full 
ness  of  his  nature.  The  soul  pre-existed  in  God,  shared 
in  his  nature,  was  not  then  individual,  but  free  and  un 
conditioned,  and  as  immanent  in  him  shared  in  the 
process  of  creation.  The  soul  is  an  efflux  from  God ; 
but  as  no  longer  fully  sharing  in  his  nature,  it  has  .be 
come  corrupt.  In  time  it  will  return  into  the  undevel 
oped  Deity  and  be  at  one  with  him.  Death  to  the  indi 
vidual  self,  surrender  to  God,  is  the  condition  of  this 
Vv.  return.  Those  who  have  attentively  read  Emerson  will 
recognize  the  meaning  of  Eckhart,  when  he  says  there 
is  something  in  the  soul  which  is  above  the  soul,  a  di 
vine  spark,  an  uncreated  light.  This  is  the  unity  of  all 
souls  in  the  Over-soul ;  and  it  is  absolute  and  free  from 
all  names  and  forms,  higher  than  knowledge,  higher 
than  love,  and  is  satisfied  only  with  the  super-essential 
essence.  In  this  perfect  union  of  the  soul  with  God,  all 
J:hat  is  creaturely,  all  that  is  individual,  ceases  to  exist. 
'  Knowing,  according  to  Eckhart,  is  a  supernatural  vision, 
the  action  of  God  in  the  soul.  With  Proclus,  he  holds 
that  faith  is  a  direct  communion  with  God,  and  the 
means  of  all  knowledge.  As  true  knowing  is  an  act  of 
divine  grace,  God  communicating  himself  to  the  soul, 
man  must  not  search  or  reason  or  use  any  power  of  his 
own.  He  must  remain  quiet,  passive,  unemployed  of 
outward  things,  that  God  may  find  him  a  fit  receptacle 
for  truth.  To  the  man  who  has  utterly  abandoned  self, 
Eckhart  says,  God  communicates  all  his  nature,  essence, 
/  and  life.  In  the  very  spirit  and  manner  of  Emerson  be 
\  says  the  inner  voice  is  the  voice  of  God.  To  those  who 
would  find  aid  in  some  outward  exercise  of  religion,  he 
exclaims,  "Why  abide  not  in  your  own  selves?,  and 


AS   A  THINKER.  277 

take  hold  on  your  own  possession  ?  Ye  have  all  truth 
essentially  within  you !  "  He  says  the  righteous  man  is 
in  substance  and  in  nature  without  distinction  what 
God  is,  and  that  in  the  moments  of  intuition  the  soul  is 
raised  above  individuality,  and  ceases  to  know  its  sepa-  , 
rateness  from  God. 

The  teachings  of  Eckhart  spread  widely  throughout 
Germany.  Similar  theories  were  taught  by  many  others, 
giving  origin  to  a  large  school  of  mystics,  and  finally 
led  to  the  Reformation.  From  the  stand-point  of  intui 
tion,  of  an  inner  revelation,  they  criticised  the  church, 
and  regarded  Christianity  as  a  spiritual  life  separate 
from  its  doctrines  and  ritual.  One  of  their  favorite 
teachings  was,  that  man  is  a  microcosm.  As  all  things 
are  of  the  ^ame  nature  and  origin,  as  God  dwells  in  all 
his  fullness  in  the  soul,  the  soul  becomes  an  epitome  of 
the  universe.  The  doctrine  of  immanence  was  ex 
panded  by  the  theory  of  development  through  contra 
ries,  so  that  light  and  darkness,  good  and  evil,  clashing 
with  each  other,  produce  creation.  All  these  ideas  were 
taken  up  by  Jacob  Boehme,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  woven  into  a  theory  of  correspond 
ences,  and  given  the  form  of  a  nature-philosophy.  He 
gel  says  he  read  much,  especially  the  mystic,  theosophic, 
and  aichemistic  writings,  and  in  part,  at  least,  Paracelsus, 
who  taught  the  idea  of  man  as  a  microcosm,  and  who 
first  developed  the  theory  that  existence  is  a  series  of  an 
titheses.  William  Law,  the  greatest  of  Boehme's  Eng 
lish  disciples,  says  that  "  whatsoever  the  great  Hermes 
delivered  in  oracles,  or  Pythagoras  spoke  by  authority, 
or  Socrates  debated,  or  Aristotle  affirmed,  whatever 
divine  Plato  prophesied,  or  Plotinus  proved,  —  this,  and 
all  this,  or  a  far  higher  and  profounder  philosophy,  is 
contained  in  Boehme's  writings."  He  regards  the  uni 
verse  as  a  universal  revelation  of  God,  matter  as  dor 
mant  mind,  and  mind  as  self-conscious  matter;  and  the 
inmost  of  man's  nature  is  in  the  deepest  sense  one  with 
the  highest  in  God.  He  finds  in  man  the  measure  of 
all  things ;  so  that  when  he  would  study  nature,  the 
best  means  to  it  are  to  be  found  in  the  soul.  He  sees 


278  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

in  nature  the  same  divine  life,  the  same  glory  and  man 
ifestation  of  God,  there  is  in  the  soul.  As  they  so  ex 
actly  correspond,  it  is  enough  to  look  into  the  soul,  if 
we  would  know  what  nature  is.  He  also  teaches,  that, 
as  God  dwells  in  the  soul  and  the  soul  in  God,  passivity 
is  the  means  to  the  perfection  of  this  union,  and  that 
even  now  Paradise  may  be  realized  by  the  soul.1 
Boehme's  truly  noble  disciple,  William  Law,  says  that 
"life  in  an  angel  and  life  in  a  vegetable  has  but  one 
and  the  same  form,  one  and  the  same  ground  in  the 
whole  scale  of  beings  ;  and  the  reason  is,  because  nature 
is  nothing  else  but  God's  own  outward  manifestation  of 
what  he  inwardly  is  and  can  do."  He  says  the  intuitive 
knowing  of  truth  "  depends  upon  thy  right  submission 
and  obedience  to  the  speaking  of  God  in  thy  soul. 
Stop,  then,  all  self-activity,  listen  not  to  the  suggestions 
of  thy  own  reason,  run  not  in  thy  own  will ;  but  be  re 
tired,  silent,  passive,  and  humbly  attentive  to  this  light 
within  thee."2  With  these  general  ideas  of  Boehme's 
system  Emerson  thoroughly  agrees,  but  not  at  all  with 
his  more  special  doctrines.  Holbeach  justly  says  that 
in  reading  Emerson  we  might  sometimes  fancy  we  had 
Eckhart  before  us ;  and  that  "  the  identity  of  thought 
and  language  with  the  old-world  Germans  will  strike 
every  reader  at  once."3 

In  this  philosophic  development  we  come  next  to 
Schelling.  In  the  second  or  third  period  of  his  think 
ing,  he  came  under  the  influence  of  Boehme  ;  and  he 
was  also  affected  by  the  Neo-Platonists,  Eckhart,  and 
some  of  the  other  mystics.  It  is  not  probable  that 
i  Emerson  was  to  any  more  than  a  limited  extent 
directly  affected  by  Schelling,  but  it  is  certain  that 
much  of  what  he  has  taught  is  to  be  found  in  the  writ 
ings  of  this  philosopher.  Schelling  teaches  that  nature 
and  mind,  subject  and  object,  are  one  and  identical  in 
the  Absolute,  and  that  this  identity  is  known  by  intel 
lectual  intuition.  This  is  a  fundamental  conception 

1  Vaughan's  Hours  with  the  Mystics. 

2  Quoted  in  Overtoil's  William  Law.  Nonjuror  and  Mystic. 
8  Contemporary  Review,  February,  1877. 


AS   A   THINKER.  279 

of  Emerson's  philosophy,  and  in  much  else  they  exactly 
agree.  The  theory  that  man  is  a  living  synthesis  or 
microcosm  of  the  universe  became  the  leading  idea 
in  Schelling's  nature-philosophy,  and  it  has  touched 
modern  thought  OD  many  sides.  He  took  up,  also,  the 
theory  of  contraries,  and  regarded  nature  and  spirit  as 
the  two  great  poles  of  the  Absolute.  3»his  idea  led 
him,  and  many  others,  to  make  constant  use  of  the 
magnet  as  a  symbop  Mind  and  matter,  soul  and 
nature,  are  related  as  the  two  poles  of  the  magnet ; 
they  are  merely  the  positive  and  negative  manifesta 
tions  of  the  Absolute.  The  idea  of  Plotinus,  that 
there  have  been  successive  emanations,  beginning  with 
the  One,  each  lower  producing  one  still  lower,  was  not 
literally  revived  by  Schelling  as  it  was  by  Swedenborg ; 
but  he  held  that  there  are  successive  grades  of  phenom 
enal  existence,  which  he  called  potences.  From  the 
clod  up  to  God  there  is  a  continuous  ascension  of  life, 
and  the  lower  is  continually  reaching  forward  that  itj 
may  realize  the  higher. 

In  Schelling's  theory  of  knowledge,  a  main  doctrine 
is,  "that  our  ideas  so  completely  correspond  with 
things,  there  is  nothing  in  them  which  is  not  in  our 
ideas."  "  There  ,not  only  exists  outside  of  us,  he  says, 
a  world  of  things  independent  of  us,  but  pur  represen 
tations  agree  with  them  in  such  a  manner  that  there  is 
nothing  else  in  the  things  beyond  what  they  present  to 
us.  The  necessity  which  prevails  in  our  objective 
representations  is  explained  by  saying  that  the  things 
are  unalterably  determined ;  and  by  this  determination 
of  the  things,  our  ideas  are  also  indirectly  determined. 
By  this  first  and  most  original  conviction,  the  first 
problem  of  philosophy  is  determined,  namely,  to 
explain  how  representations  can  absolutely  agree  with 
objects  existing  altogether  independently  of  them." 
This  he  finds  in  the  "  absolute  identity  of  being  and 
seeming,"  or  subject  and  object.  On  this  point,  he 
says,  — 


280  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

"  How  at  once  tlis  objective  world  conforms  itself  to  ideas  in  us, 
and  ideas  in  us  conform  themselves  to  the  objective  world,  it  is 
impossible  to  conceive,  unless  there  exists  between  the  two  worlds 
—  the  ideal  and  the  real  —  a  pre-established  harmony.  But  this  pre- 
sstablished  harmony  itself  is  not  conceivable,  unless  the  activity, 
whereby  the  objective  world  is  produced,  is  originally  identical 
with  that  which  displays  itself  in  volition,  and  vice  versa." 


As  in  the  case  of  his  predecessors,  Sp]-|^1inor  rjnt,  only 
adepts  the  theory  of  identity,  but  with  them  also  iie 
makes  intuition  the  means  of  perceiving  this  identity. 
"There  dwells  in  us  all,  he  says,  a  secret,  wrmderfii 
faculty,  by  virtue  of  which  we  can  withdraw  from  the 
mutations  of  time  int:>  our  innermost  disrobed  selves, 
and  there  behold  the  eternal  under  the  form  of  immu 
tability  ;  such  vision  is  our  innermost  and  peculiar 
experience,  on  which  alone  depends  all  that  we  know 
and  believe  of  a  supersensible  world."  These  leading 
ideas  of  Schelling  and  his  predecessors  were  accepted 
by  Coleridge,  especially  the  conception  of  reason  as 
one,  that  the  human  is  identical  with  the  divine  reason. 
"Coleridge  was  a  diligent  reader  of  Schelling,  but  even 
more  so  of  Tauler,  Boehme,  Law,  and  Ft^  With 
the^  men  he  regarded  all  truth  as  a  direct  revelation 
to  the  s;ml.  This  revelation  takes  place  through  rea 
son,  which  is  an  intuitive,  supernatural  factor  in  man, 
not  personal  to  us,  but  the  manifestation  in  conscious 
ness  of  the  universal  reason.  Reason  is  therefore  a 
common  factor  in  the  human  and  the  divine,  by  which 
they  are  essentially  united  and  made  one. 

From  Plotinus  to  Coleridge,  there  has  been  a  con 
tinuous  succession  of  thinkers,  through  Proclus,  Eck- 
hart,  Boehme,  and  Schelling,  who  have  maintained  a 
peculiar  philosophic  doctrine,  that  of  identity  and 
intuition.  Other  thinkers  have  held  both  these 
theories,  but  not  in  the  same  religious,  theosophic 
spirit  which  has  marked  this  succession  of  speculators. 
These  men  have  held  to  them  in  the  spirit  of  mysticism  ; 
and  though  there  have  been  other  mystics,  it  has  had 
here  a  peculiarity  of  its  own.  Emerson  is  the  latest 
representative  of  this  school  of  thought.  Its  philo- 


AS    A    THINKER.  281 

sopliic  spirit,  its  doctrines,  its  religious  peculiarities,  its 
moral  qualities,  may  all  be  found  in  him.  With  110  one 
of  these  men  does  he  fully  agree  ;  and  he  has  freely 
selected,  rejected,  and  combined  their  teachings  in  a 
manner  quite  his  own.  "fThe  dark  background  of 
Being,  of  which  Boehme  and  Schelling  speculated, 
their  peculiar  theory  of  the  trinity,  which  Hegel  took 
from  Eckhart  as  the  basis  of  his  philosophy,  and  many 
other  speculations  of  these  thinkers,  Emerson  has 
rejected.  As  a  whole,  Ms  philosophy  would  be  pro 
nounced  very  different  from,  that  of  any  of  his  prede 
cessors;  and  yet  there  can  be.  no  doubt  he  had  these  men 
for  teachers,  and  that  in  a  feHv  leading,  simple  ideas  he 
thoroughly  agrees  with  theirfK  In  Plato  and  Plptinus 
'the_foundation  of  his  speculations  was  laid  ^  and  with 
the  aid  of  Boehme,  Coleridge,  Caiiyle,  the  German 
and  the  English  idealists,  the  edifice  of  his  thought  has 
been  erected,  ^The  materials  thus  given  have  been 
used  in  a  manner  quite  his  own,  with  an  originality 
marked  and  distinct.**-  To  them  have  been  added,  not 
only  the  results  of  his  own  vigorous  thinking,  but  many.* 
of  the  commonly  accepted  theories  of  the  idealists  of  \ 
his  time.  rThe  theory  of  intuition  was  one  that  filled 


the  German  literature  Avhich  Caiiyle   and  others  began    / 
t  the  time   Emerson  was   preparing  / 
for  the  pulpit.  .jTo  that  theory  was  added  what   natu-f  %/ 


to  introduce  at  about  the  time   Emerson  was   prewiring* 


rally  followed,  the    conception   of  genius   as    the   true 
oracle    of    heaven.     Goethe    and    his    contemporaries 
made   this   a   cardinal  truth,  as  well  ^as  the  notion  of 
^absolute  individual  liberty,  another  offshoot  from   the  ; 
doctrine   of   intuition,    ^ultimate  love   of  nature,   raid 
communion  with  its  divine  life,  was  an  extraordinary 
characteristic,  both  of  Goethe  and  Wordsworth ;  and  it  U 
~GarBmJ;rjojnjyif^^  mysticism  of  Schelling  and  I 

-Geler-klgo.  \While  the  earlier  mystics  taught  Emerson    \ 
the   doctrine    of  self-renunciation  and  dependence   on    \. 
God,  aH-the  later  Germans  he  read  taught  individuality    T 
and   self-reliance.  \  He    combined   the    two   ideas   and  *) 
made  them  one,    / 

To  the   English   Platonists  of  the  Elizabethan  era, 


282  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

Emerson  is  also  largely  indebted.  In  his  English  Traits 
he  has  named  these  men,  —  More,  Hooker,  Bacon,  Sidney, 
Lord  Brooke,  Herbert,  Browne,  Donne,  Spenser,  Chap 
man,  Milton,  Crashaw,  Norris,  Cudworth,  Berkeley, 
Jeremy  Taylor, —  and  says,  "such  richness  of  genius 
had  not  existed  more  than  once  before."  Though  IKJ 

f  has  not  been  to  any  great  extent  a  student  of  Kant, 
Fichte,  and  Hegel,  yet  he  has  been  largely  in  sympathy 
with  the  general  tendencies  of  thought  represented  by 
Lessiug,  Herder,  and  Goethe.  Truces  of  their  influence 
frequently  appear  on  his  pages.  ^WKpn  Hfir1?1'..  ri>r>" 
laims  the  sujerjorit.y  of  na.tnrp.tn  fliefresalts  of  history, 
~  intnitirm  nvpr  vp.^nn.  he  has  the  fullest  sympathy 
Q-F  F.TnpyftpflX  These  G-rmftnn  mnrln  in^nntijy^i  feluitive- 

L^gian  the  ideal  man  ;  and 


mnrt    wnrlr    fnjrpfV^r,    flts,     *.    wlio1P1    in     fipmivjngr    triillr.'S 

"  Every  thing  that  man  undertakes  to  produce,  said 
Goethe,  whether  by  action,  word,  or  in  whatsoever  wa;y, 
ought  to  spring  from  the  union  of  all  his  faculties.  All 
that  is  isolated  is  condemnable."  ^They  taught  the  im 
manence  of  nature  in  the  human,  the  doctrines  of  iden 
tity  and  intuition,  as  undoubted  truthK  They  saw  God 
Jn  r>nf,]]yp  and  regarded  it,  with  Goethe,  as  his  living  gar 
ment.  The  genius  they  looked  upon  as  the  messenger 
of  truth,  the  real  means  of  human  progressvJL  Herder 
said  that  "true  morality  is  religion  under  whatever 
form  it  may  show  itself,'*  and  he  rejected  all  theological 
discussion  as  useless.  Kant  said  they  are  always  in 
the  service  of  God  whose  actions  are  moral,  and  that 
absolutely  impossible  to  serve  God  otherwise.1 
Curly le  took  up  this  thought,  making  the  Moral  Sense 
the  center  of  man's  life,  and  the  link  which  connects 
him  with  God.  He  refused  any  attempt  to  explain  mind, 
but  looked  to  nature  as  its  representative  and  symbol. 
He  saw  life  and  law  everywhere  present,  und  said  all 
things  make  on  us  an  identical  impression  when 
rightly  seen.  This  is  true  because  of  the  absolute  unity 
of  things,  .because  there  is  but  One  Mind.  He  made 
self-renunciation  his  first  moral  doctrine,  and  action  ac- 

i  Ilillrbranu's  Guruum  Thought. 


AS    A   THINKER.  283 

cording  to  God's  laws  the  second.  He  saw  in  man  the 
epitome  of  nature ;  and  he  strenuously  maintained  the 
theory  of  the  unity  of  the  mind,  that  all  its  powers  must 
work  in  common.  He  saw  in  the  believing  man  the  true 
worker,  and  he  measured  the  intellect  by  the  moral  life.1 
The  universe  is  to  him  "  but  one  vast  symbol  of  God," 
while  "  through  every  star,  through  every  grass-blade, 
and  most  through  every  living  soul,  the  glory  of  a  pres 
ent  God  beams."  All  religions,  he  asserts,  are  but  sym 
bols  and  outward  expressions  of  infinite  truths  within. 
"  The  one  end,  essence,  and  use  of  all  religion,  past, 
present,  and  to  come,  is  this  only ;  to  keep  the  moral 
conscience,  or  inner  light,  of  ours  alive  and  shining.'.!/ 
Hence,  historic  religions  lost  their  "old  value  to  him,  as 
the^Klii  to  Lessing  ;  and  this  spirit  was  communicated 
to  Emerson>  Indeed,  with  this  whole  movement,  rep\ 
resented  by  all  the  great  Germans  from  Lessing  to 
Novalis,  and  by  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  and  Carlyle  in 
England,  Emerson  has  been  in  sympathy.  Those  ideas 
which  became  to  them  the  universal  truths  lying  at  the 
basis  of  all  thinking,  he  has  accepted  in  the  same  spirit./' 

His  readings  of  the  Oriental  mystics,  especially  those 
of  Persia  and  India,  have  had  their  effect  on  Emerson's 
writings.  He  has  found  there  a  wide  affinity  with  his 
own  speculations,  and  a  presentation  of  all  his  leading 
ideas.  The  intensity  with  which  these  ideas  are  there 
presented,  the  imaginative  power  of  these  writings,  and 
the  absoluteness  of  the  soul-trust  which  they  indicate, 
has  attracted  and  deeply  interested  him. 

The  teachings  of  his  predecessors  Emerson  has  ac-  \ 
cepted  rather  as  the  basis  for  a  social  and  moral  refor 
mation  of  life  than  as  %  philosophy.     The  philosophy 
has  been  incidental,  merely  a  ground-work  of  faith  and 
conviction,  not  a  speculative  system.     He  has  presented 
a  theosophy  rather  than  a  philosophy  in  his  writings,  a 
spiritual  rather  than  an  intellectual  theory  of  the  uni-    , 
verse.  '  For  this  reason,  doubtless,  his  real  place  in  the  •< 
stream  of  philosophic  speculation  has  so  often  been  mis 
taken.     Yet  that  place  is  a  clearly  defined  one;  and  a 

1  Crozier's  Religion  of  the  Future. 


284  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

comparison  of  his  theories  with  those  of  the  men  already 
named,  will  show  how  intimate  his  relations  with  them. 
He  has  given  expression  to  his  philosophic  attitude  by 
saying  it  was  his  desire  to  put  away  all  discussions  and 
disputes  for  a  discovery  of  moral  laws.  In  a  conversa 
tion  with  Brownson,  he  once  said,  "  I  find  myself  in  the 
midst  of  a  truth  which  I  do  not  understand.  I  do  not 
/  find  that  any  'one  understands  it.  I  only  wish  to  make 
a  clean  transcript  of  my  own  mind."  That  is,  he  saw  no 
hope  of  arriving  at  the  truth,  by  any  methods  of  reason 
ing,  but  would  take  instead  that  transcript  of  truth 
given  to  the  mind  by  intuition.  His  attitude  towards 
all  dialectical  and  scientific  methods  he  well  expressed 
when  he  said,  "  A  person  seeking  truth  is  like  a  man 
going  out  in  a  dark  night  with  a  lantern  in  search  of 
something."  So  poor  does  he  find  the  lantern  of  the 
understanding  in  comparison  with  the  sun  of  intuition ! 
It  is  idle,  useless,  to  seek  truth,  to  go  in  search  for  it ; 
as  it  is  a  revelation,  an  act  of  God's  grace  in  the  soul. 
The  outward  world,  helpful  as  it  is,  can  teach  us  noth 
ing  but  through  its  affinity  to  what  is  given  in  us  by  the 
Infinite  -Reason ;  all  the  methods  of  understanding  and 
induction  are  like  a  lantern  in  a  dark  night.  Even  in 
his  study  of  nature,  and  in  his  use  of  the  conclusions  of 
science,  he  constantly  indicates  his  affinity  of  thought  to 
Boehme  and  kichelling.  In  his  pages  will  not  be  found 
the  science  of  either  as  science ;  but  their  method  of 
looking  at  nature,  their  acceptance  of  it  as  an  expression 
of  the  divine,  and  their  theory  of  its  exact  correspond 
ence  to  the  moral  and  spiritual  world,  will  be  found 
everywhere  through  his  writings. 

Emerson  is  not  only  an  idealist,  but  a  mystic.  Indi 
vidual  as  his  nrysticism  may  be  in  many  of  its  features, 
he  is  only  to  be  understood  when  placed  in  the  com 
pany  of  the  great  mystics  of  all  ages,  and  his  teachings 
compared  with  theirs.  That  he  is  something  more  than 
a  mystic  does  not  make  this  statement  any  the  less  true. 
He  is  not  a  skeptic  or  a  rationalist,  in  the  philosophic 
sense ;  and  he  has  no  real  affinity  with  either  of  these 
schools  of  thought.  His  mysticism  has  broken  away 


AS    A   THINKER.  205 

from  all  sectarian  and  historic  limits,  arid  accepted  the 
ground  of  universal  religion.  It  has  planted  itself 
deeply  and  strongly  on  an  ethical  basis,  has  rejected 
mere  feeling,  and  has  displayed  great  practical  wisdom. 
As  a  result,  his  mysticism  is  more  in  sympathy  with 
the  tendencies  of  modern  life  than  that  of  any  of  his 
predecessors.  Yet  the  tendencies  and  sympathies  of 
his  mind  are  clearly  shown  by  his  interest  in  the  occult, 
and  in  the  significance  he  attaches  to  dreams.1  As  a 
genuine  mystic,  he  dwells  on  the  prophetic  powers  of 
the  soul ;  and  though  he  repudiates  modern  spiritualism, 
he  maintains  with  continued  emphasis  his  faith  in  the 
mind's  supersensuous  functions. 

NOTE.  —  Essential  aid  to  the  comprehension  of  Emerson's  writings 
will  be  found  in  Vaughan's  Hours  with  the  Mystics  and  Hunt's  Essay 
on  Pantheism.  Though  neither  of  these  authors  fully  und'-rsfand.s  or 
appreciates  his  subject,  yet  each  furnishes  valuable  aid  to  the  general 
student  of  the  history  of  opinions.  The  careful  reader  of  these  books 
will  not  longer  doubt  where  Emerson  belongs  as  a  thinker.  Ullmann's 
Reformers  before  the  Reformation  furnishes  valuable  aid  to  an  under 
standing  of  the  German  mystics;  while  Professor  Lasson,  in  Ueberweg's 
History  of  Philosophy,  presents  an  able  summary  of  the  speculations 
of  Eckhart  and  his  successors.  Overtoil's  William  Law,  Nonjuror  and 
Mystic,  has  some  good  chapters  on  mysticism,  and  a  fair  account  of 
Boehme.  Tulloch's  work  on  The  Cambridge  Platonists,  being  the 
second  volume  of  his  Rational  Theology  and  Christian  Philosophy  in 
England  in  the  Seventeenth  Century,  will  give  a  few  hints  of  Emer 
son's  debt  to  the  Elizabethan  thinkers.  Hillebrand's  Lectures  on  Ger 
man  Thought  indicate  to  how  large  an  extent  many  of  Emerson's 
ideas  were  common  property  among  the  German  writers  of  the  time  of 
Lessing  and  Goethe.  Crozie*r's  Religion  of  the  Future  gives  the  best 
statement  yet  made  of  Emerson's  relations  to  Carlyle.  Eucken's 
Fundamental  Concepts  of  Modern  Philosophic  Thought  traces  the  ori 
gin  and  development  and  present  value  of  several  of  those  ideas 
Emerson  has  made  fundamental  in  his  philosophy.  Among  other 
works  consulted  in  the  writing  of  this  chapter,  are  the  essays  of  Mar- 
tineau  and  Shairp,  Thompson's  lectures  on  Plato,  and  the  histories  of 
philosophy  by  Bowen,  Lewes,  Maurice,  Schwegler,  Morell,  Ueberweg, 
and  Chalybaus. 

1  See  essay  on  Deinonology  in  North  American  Review  for  March, 
1877. 


286  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 


XX. 

UNIVERSAL   SPIRIT. 

THCKHART  says  that  God  uhas  the  substance  of  all 
-J-^  creatures  in  himself,"  that  uhe  is  a  Being  who 
has  all  being  in  himself,"  and  that  "  all  things  are  in 
God  and  all  things  are  God."  This  is  the  fundamental 
postulate  alike  of  transcendentalism  and  mysticism. 
Emerson  accepts  it  by  saying  there  is  in  all  things  a 
unity  so  supreme  that  the  ultimate  fact  we  reach,  "  on 
every  topic,  is  the  resolution  of  all  into  the  ever- 
blessed  One." 1  "  Under  all  this  running  sea  of  cir 
cumstance,  whose  waters  ebb  and  flow  with  perfect  bal 
ance,  lies  the  aboriginal  abyss  of  real  Being.  Essence, 
or  God,  is  not  a  relation,  or  a  part,  but  the  whole. 
Being  is  the  vast  affirmative,  excluding  negation,  self- 
balanced,  and  swallowing  up  all  relations,  parts,  and 
times  within  itself."  2 

This  is  his  fundamental  proposition,  the  existence  of 
Being,  or  God,  as  the  substans,  me,  or  essence  of  -"all 
things.  He  makes  Being1  an  absolute  unity,  outside  of 
which  nothing  whatever  exists.  \jod  is  "All  JnjklL)  All 
things  proceed  irom  this  center,  and  can  never  depart 
from  their  relations  to  it.  All  things  are  manifesta 
tions  or  revelations  of  God;  all  help  to  show  forth  his 
nature.  "God  is  the  all-fair,"  he  says.  He  is  more 
than  vthat ;  "  Truth,  goodness,  and  beauty  are  but  dif 
ferent  faces  xxf  the  sarae_J\  II."  8  -I' .God  is,  and  all  things 
are  but  shadows  of  him."4 

God  is  the  life  in  all  things,  not  only,  but  in  each 
thing  he  is  present  with  all  his  attributes;  "so  that  all 
the  laws  of  nature  may  be  read  in  each  fact."  "  The 

1  Essays,  first  series,  p.  61.  2  Ibid.,  p.  108. 

3  Miscellanies,  p.  22.  4  Essays,  first  series,  p.  281. 


UNIVERSAL   SPIRIT.  287 


true  doctrine  of  omnipresence  is,  that  jGfo^  re-appen.ra 
with  all  L.LS  parts  in  every  moss  and  cobweb.  The 
value  of  the  universe  contrives  to  throw  itself  into 
every  point."  l  When  we  try  to  define  God,  however, 
we  can  not  ;  he  is  beyond  all  definition,  because  he 
includes  all  definitions.  "  Of  that  ineffable  essence 
which  we  call  Spirit,  says  Emerson,  he  that  thinks  most 
will  say  least."  2 

"  We  can  foresee  God  in  the  coarse,  and,  as  it  were,  distant 
pi;  enomena  of  matter  ;  but  when  we  try  to  define  and  describe 
himself,  both  language  and  thought  desert  us,  and  we  are  as  help 
less  as  fools  and  savages.  That  essence  refuses  to  be  recorded  in 
propositions  ;  but  when  man  has  worshiped  him  intellectually,  the 
noblest  ministry  of  nature  is  to  stand  as  the  apparition  of  God. 
It  is  the  organ  through  which  the  universal  spirit  speaks  to  the 
individual,  and  strives  to  lead  back  the  individual  to  it."  3 

In  Wood-notes  he  has  written  these  words  concerning 
the  pervasive  and  immanent  character  of  the  Universal 
Spirit  :  — 

"  Thou  meetest  him  by  centuries, 

And  lo  !  he  passes  like  the  breeze  ; 

Thou  seek'st  in  globe  and  galaxy, 

He  hides  in  pure  transparency  ; 

Thou  askest  in  fountains  and  in  fires, 
>   He  is  the  essence  that  inquires. 

He  is  the  axis  of  the  star  ; 

He  is  the  sparkle  of  the  spar  ; 

He  is  the  heart  of  every  creature  ; 

He  is  the  meaning  of  each  feature  ; 

And  his  mind  is  the  sky, 

Than  all  it  holds  more  deep,  more  high." 


Emerson  f.p.a.p.hqs  that  Qnrl  is  t,V>P  substance  of  the 
jiyjerse,  the  material  out  of  which  all  things  are/  formed. 
and  the  life  which  animates  all  which  exists.  XNot  only 
the  substance  of  the  universe,  so  that  all  things  whatso 
ever  partake  of  his  nature  and  being,  but  also  the  foun 
tain  in  man,  that  we  call  the  soul.  He  says  with  Fichte, 
"  that  all  existence  in  time  has  its  root  in  a  higher  exis 
tence  above  time  ;  that,  strictly  speaking,  there  is  but 

i  Ibid.,  p.  91.  2  Miscellanies,  p.  59.  3  ibid.,  p.  60. 


288  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

one  life,  one  animating  power,  one  living  reason ;  and 
that  the  greatest  of  errors,  and  the  true  ground  of  all 
error,  is  the  delusion  of  the  individual  that  he  can  exist, 
live,  think,  and  act  of  himself.  The  first  of  thought 
and  being,  the  starting-point  and  substance,  at  once 
the  subject  and  object  of  speculation,  is  the  one,  true, 
and  absolutely  self-existent  Being,  —  the  God  whom 
all  hearts  seek.  And  that  each  individual  moment  of 
man's  life  on  earth  is  contained  within  the  development 
of  the  one  original  divine  life ;  that  whatever  meets  the 
view,  and  seems  beyond  that  one  life,  is  not  beyond  it, 
but  within  it ;  that  to  see  tilings  truly,  means  to  _.ee 
them  only  in  and  through  the  one  original  life  ;  that  the 
light  and  life  of  religion,  light  and  life  of  God,  is  the 
only  true  light  and  life,  the  only  science  and  the  only 
virtue,''1  —  all  this  is  as  true  to  Emerson  as  to  Fichle. 

Though  Spirit  refuses  to  be  recorded  in  propositions, 
yet  it  is  not  merely  as  a  universal  essence  that  we  are 
to  regard  it.  kt  Self-existence  is  the  attribute  of  the 
Supreme  Cause,"2  and  by  that  Emerson  means  much 
the  same  that  other  idealists  express  by  the  word  per 
sonality.  Upon  those  who  are  unnecessarily  afraid  <;f 
defining  God,  he  urges  a  disregard  of  a  seeming  coiiMst- 
ency  with  their  own  words,  and  that  they  permit  the 
soul  to  speak  out  its  own  deep  sentiments  of  affection 
and  trust.  "In  your  metaphysics  you  have  denied  per 
sonality  to  the  Deity ;  yet  when  the  devout  motions  of 
the  soul  come,  yield  to  them  heart  and  life,  though  they 
should  clothe  God  with  shape  and  color."  3  The  theory 
is  nothing,  but  it  is  every  thing  to  yield  the  soul  su 
premely  to  the  love  of  God.  We  are  to  accept  God 
as  he  appears  in  that  moment  of  our  union  with  him, 
nothing  questioning,  nothing  doubting.  As  he  appears 
then  a  person,  a  spirit  communing  with  spirit,  so  we 
are  to  accept  him. 

To  limit  Emerson's  idea  of  the  Infinite  Spirit  to  what 
he  has  said  directly  about  God,  would  be  to  do  him  great 
injustice.  His  idea  of  God  is  presupposed  in  his  idea 

1  Flint's  Philosophy  of  History,  vol.  i.  p.  414, 

2  Essays,  first  series,  p.  61.  8  Ibid.,  p  50. 


UNIVERSAL    SPIRIT.  289 

of  the  soul,  and  must  be  studied  in  conjunction  with 
it.  The  conception  he  entertains  of  the  soul  necessi-  j 
tates  belief  in  God  as  a  supreme  intelligent  Existence,  i 
A  thinking  soul  can  not  hold  communion  with  an  un-.v 
thinking  essence.  A  self-reliant  soul  can  not  be  mergedft 
in  an  ocean  of  being,  and  it  can  find  its  power  only  inj^ 
perfect  harmony  with  a  self-reliant  personality  like  its 
own.  Emerson's  attitude  is  not  that  of  the  theologian 
and  philosopher,  but  that  of  the  poet,  the  seer,  and  the 
worshiper.  God  is  so  near  to  his  soul,  and  so  dear  to 
his  thought,  he  is  so  absorbed  in  the  joy  of  that  blessed 
union,  he  forgets  to  ask  any  questions.  Strangers  study 
each  other  critically ;  but  friends,  bound  heart  to  heart, 
forget  all  matters  of  clothing  and  complexion.  He  as 
sumes  Go.d  to  exist,  stops  not  to  define,  but  pushes  on 
to  a  realization  of  those  relations  in  which  man  stands 
to  him.  HP  1nr>Vft  at  every  subject,  studiftft-a^ery  ofyjact. 
in  the  light  of  its  relations  to  God ;  but  to  name  God 
wherever  lie  sees  him  would  be  an  endless  task.  This 
constant  naming  of  an  inexhaustible  idea  and  reality 
would  only  serve  to  lower  it ;  but  in  refusing  to  name 
it,  he  all  the  more  surely  expresses  its  protean  nature 
and  its  constant  presence.  His  absorbing  belief  in  the 
reality  of  God,  and  his  acceptance  of  that  belief  as 
vitally  necessary  to  the  health  of  the  mind,  he  has 
earnestly  expressed  in  one  of  his  more  recent  essays. 
His  faith  in  the  self-sufficingness  of  the  laws  of  God,  and 
his  refusal  to  accept  them  as  limited  by  any  historical 
forms,  are  as  stoutly  as  ever  asserted  in  the  same  words. 

'k  Unlovely,  he  says,  nay,  frightful,  is  the  solitude  of  the  soul 
which  is  without  God  in  the  world.  To  wander  all  day  in  the  sun 
light  among  the  tribes  of  animals,  unrelated  to  any  thing  better;  to 
behold  the  horse,  cow,  and  bird,  and  to  foresee  an  equal  and  speedy  . 
end  to  him  and  them,  —  no ;  the  bird,  as  it  hurried  by  with  its  bold 
and  perfect  flight,  would  disclaim  his  sympathy,  and  declare  him  an 
outcast.  To  see  men  pursuing  in  faith  their  varied  action,  warm 
hearted,  providing  for  their  children,  loving  their  friends,  performing 
their  proinistis,  —  what  are  they  to  this  chill,  houseless,  fatherless, 
jlimle-'s  Cain,  the  man  who  hears  only  the  sound  of  his  own  foot 
step;;  in  God's  resplendent  creation?  To  him,  it  is  no  creation  ;  to 
him,  these  fair  creatures  are  hapless  specters ;  he  knows  not  what 


290  KALPH   WALDO   EMEKSON. 

to  make  of  it  ;  to  him,  heaven  and  earth  have  lost  their  beautv 
How  gloomy  is  the  day,  and  upon  yonder  shining  pond,  what  mel 
ancholy  light !  I  can  not  keep  the  sun  in  heaven,  if  you  take  away 
the  purpose  that  animates  him.  The  ball,  indeed,  is  there  ;  but  his 
power  to  cheer,  to  illuminate  the  heart  as  well  as  the  atmosphere, 
is  gone  for  ever.  It  is  a  lamp-wick  for  meanest  uses.  The  words, 
great,  venerable,  have  lost  their  meaning ;  every  thought  loses  all 
its  depth,  and  has  become  mere  surface. 

"  But  religion  has  an  object.  It  does  not  grow  thin  or  robust 
with  the  health  of  the  votary.  The  object  of  adoration  remains  for 
ever  unhurt  and  identical.  We  are  in  transition  from  the  worship 
of  the  fathers  which  enshrined  the  law  in  a  private  and  personal  his 
tory  to  a  worship  which  recognizes  the  true  eternity  of  the  law,  its 
presence  to  you  and  me,  its  equal  energy  in  what  is  called  brute- 
nature  as  in  what  is  called  sacred  history.  The  next  age  will  be 
hold  God  in  the  ethical  laws,  —  as  mankind  begins  to  see  them  in 
this  age,  self-equal,  self-executing,  instantaneous,  and  self-affirmed, 
needing  no  voucher,  no  prophet,  and  no  miracle  besides  their  own 
irresistibility,  —  and  will  regard  natural  history,  private  fortunes, 
and  politics,  not  for  themselves,  as  we  have  done,  but  as  illustra 
tions  of  those  laws,  of  that  beatitude  and  love.  Nature  is  too  thin 
a  screen  :  the  glory  of  the  One  breaks  in  everywhere." l 

He  accepts  the  truth  there  is  in  both  theism  and 
pantheism,  recognizing  alike  the  absolute  unity  and 
the  endless  diversity  of  the  manifestation.  The  panthe 
ism  of  the  theologians  and  philosophers,  however,  never 
had  an  existence  as  an  historical  faith ;  and  he  has  been 
too  earnest  a  believer  to  accept  any  thing  so  shadowy 
and  unreal.  He  has  avoided  alike  the  anthropomor 
phism  of  the  theistic  faiths ;  and  the  failure  to  recognize 
a  transcendent  unity,  which  has  been  the  defect  of  the 
pantheistic  theories.  Theodore  Parker  long  ago  clearly 
denned  Emerson's  position,  showing  him  not  to  have 
been  at  any  time  a  pantheist,  as  that  word  is  used  by 
theologians. 

"He  has  an  absolute  confidence  in  God.  lie  has  been  foolishly 
accused  of  pantheism,  which  sinks  God  in  nature ;  but  no  man  is 
further  fronxi.t.  He  never  sinks  God  in  man  ;  he  does  not  stop  with 
the  law,  in  matter  or  morals,  but  goes  to  the  Law-giver ;  yet  proba 
bly  it  would  not  be  so  easy  for  him  to  give  his  definition  of  God, 
as  it  would  be  for  most  graduates  at  Andover  or  Cambridge. 
With  his  confidence  in  God  he  looks  things  fairly  in  the  face,  and 
never  dodges,  never  fears.  Toil,  sorrow,  pain,  these  are  things 

l  The  Unitarian  Review,  January,  1880  ;  essay  on  The  Preacher. 


UNIVERSAL   SPIRIT.  2Dl 

wliich  it  is  impious  to  fear.  Boldly  he  faces  every  fact,  never  re 
treating  behind  an  institution  or  a  great  man.  In  God  his  trust  is 
complete;  with  the  severest  scrutiny  he  joins  the  highest  rever 
ence."  1 

Emerson  ignores  those  sharp  distinctions  and  defini 
tions  which  would  -have  saved  him  from  the  charge  of 
pantheism,  He  really  holds  to  "  the  sublime  creed,  that 
the  world  is  not  the  product  of  manifold  power,  but  of 
one  will,  of  one  mind ;  and  that  one  mind  is  everywhere 
active,  in  each  ray  of  the  star,  in  each  wavelet  of  the 
pool;  and  whatever  opposes  that  will  is  everywhere 
balked  and  baffled,  because  things  are  made  so,  and  not 
otherwise."  2  He  will  always  doubtless  be  open  to  the 
charge  of  pantheism,  because,  though  he  maintains  so 
persistently  that  the  world  is  the  product  of  one  will 
and  one  mind,  yet  he  so  emphasizes  the  unity  of  nature 
and  man  with  God  as  to  seem  to  blot  out  all  distinc 
tions.  He  sometimes  says  that  man  becomes  God  hx 
his  TT)Qpjpr»tg  "f  fiftsflalflp.  iTif.nrj|inn. Such  phraseology "is 
undoubtedly  pantheistic;  but  it  is  poetical,  not  to  be 
read  literally*  When  it  is  read  in  the  light  of  his  clear 
judgment  and  sound  common  sense,  and  of  his  clear 
intellectual  perceptions,  it  will  be  found  susceptible  of 
another  interpretation.  He  is  a  theist  of  the  school  of 
Goethe,  Carlyle,  F.  W.  Newman,  and  Theodore  Parker ; 
a  mystic  who  accepts  devoutly  the  .theism  of  intuition, 
\3fl  wkn'fiT1fla  frn^  ft  living-reality  ™JtMn  his  own^oul. 

If  a  pantheist  is  one  who  asserts  the  absolute  unity 
o£  matter  and  mind,  then  Emerson  is  a  pantheist.  He 
rejects  that  sharp  distinction  between  matter  and  mind, 
good  and  evil,  which  has  sometimes  been  accepted  as 
the  characteristic  of  theism.  Should  this  definition  be 
maintained,  Emerson  could  not  by  any  possibility  be 
called  a  theist.  He  holds  to  the  doctrine  of  the  one 
substance  as  strongly  as  Spinoza  did.  Does  he  also  as 
sert  that  there  is  but  one  thinker,  one  self-acting  agent  ? 
If  he  does,  then  is  he  a  pantheist.  He  certainly  would 
seem  to  do  so,  for  what  else  does  he  mean  by  his  doc- 

i  Massachusetts  Quarterly  Renew.  2  Miscellanies,  p.  ]20 


292  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSOX. 

trine  of  the  Over-soul?  He  regards  the  mind  of  man 
as  a  part  of  the  Infinite  Mind,  but  he  asserts  for  man 
moral  freedom.  He  also  strongly  declares  that  each 
mind  is  different  from  every  other  mind,1  and  he  teach 
es  the  individuality  of  the  soul  in  a  very  positive  man 
ner.  In  thus  maintaining  the  freedom  and  uniqueness 
of  the  individual  soul,  he  makes  himself  a  theist. 

1  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  40,  69. 


NATURE.  293 


XXI. 

NATURE. 

THE  law  of  contraries,  as  expressed  by  Plato  and  his 
successors,  was  revived  by  Eckhart  and  Boehine ; 
and  it  became  an  important  element  in  the  nature-phi 
losophy  of  Schelling  and  Goethe.     With  Boehme, 

"These  contraries  are  his  trade-winds,  whereby  he  voyages  to 
and  fro,  and  traverses  with  such  facility  the  whole  system  of  things. 
He  teaches  that  the  Divine  unity,  in  its  manifestation,  or  self-real 
ization,  parts  into  two  principles,  variously  called  light  and  dark 
ness,  joy  and  sorrow,  fire  and  light,  wrath  and  love,  good  and  evil. 
Without  what  is  termed  the  darkness  and  the  fire,  there  would  be 
no  love  and  light.  Evil  is  necessary  to  manifest  good.  Xot  that 
every  thing  is  created  by  God  for  evil.  In  every  thing  is  both  good 
and  evil ;  the  predominance  decides  its  use  and  destiny."  l 

This  idea  occupied  a.  prominent  place  in  the  specu 
lations  of  Kant,  Schelling,  Goethe,  and  in  all  the  Ger 
man  thought  of  their  day. 

"  The  scientific  investigation  of  nature  showed  a  particular  bias 
during  this  period  to  the  adoption  of  a  duality  of  forces  as  domi 
nant  there:  In  mechanics,  Kant  had  given  a  theory  of  the  anti 
thesis  of  attraction  and  repulsion ;  in  chemistry,  the  phenomena  of 
electricity,  abstractly  conceived  as  positive  and  negative,  were 
assimilated  to  magnetism  ;  in  physiology,  there  was  the  antagonism 
of  irritability  and  sensibility,  etc.  As  against  these  dualities, 
Schelling  passed  forward  to  the  unity  of  all  opposites,  of  all 
dualities,  not  the  abstract  unity,  but  to  the  concrete  ideality,  the 
harmonious  concert  and  co-operation  of  the  whole  heterogeneous 
variety.  The  world  is  the  actuose  unity  of  a  positive  and  negative 
principle,  and  those  two  opposing  forces,  in  conflict  or  coalition, 
lead  to  the  idea  of  a  world-organizing,  world-systematizir.0-  princi 
ple,  the  soul  of  the  universe."  2 

1  Vau.fljhan'a  Hours  with  tho  Mystics,  vol.  ii.  p.  109. 

2  Sclnvegler's  History  of  Philosophy,  p.  290. 


294  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSOX. 

Schelling  saw  in  mind  andLgflatter,  simply  the  polar 

Absolute   being  truly 


seen  only  at  the  indifference  point  of  the  two  poles. 
The  magnet  became  with  him,  as  with  Goethe  and 
malny  others,  the  symbol  of  this  unity  of  nature  and 
soul  in  the  Universal  Spirit.  In  mind  and  matter,  sub 
ject  and  object,  is  the  same  substance,  the  same  life, 
the  same  identical  power  ;  but  one  is  positive,  the  other 
negative.  All  things  manifest  this  tendency  ;  each 
thing  has  its  positive  and  its  negative  manifestation^, 
This  is  a  universal  law.,  thp,  first  hy\y  expressed  Jyyjthe^ 
"Oniversal  Spirit  in  its  creative  development. 
"*  This  theory  occupies  an  importanTpTace  in  Emerson's 
philosophy.  JVLind  is  also  with  him  the  positive,  matter 
the  negative,~cxiiression  ot  tiio  Universal  {Spirit,  or  the 

__  ••«          "    g9  "  "^         7  T^  ' 

solute  Substance;  and  this  polarity  is  essential  to 
itsjnamfestation.  11(3  sees  in  mind  and  matter,  subject 
and  object,  not  "unlike  things,  but  the 

itK 


the  same  absolute  rrailitK  As  an  essential  thing  in 
itself  nature  has  no  existence,  but  it  is  the  negative 
pvpqqi'rm  of  Universal  IMind.  "  Eyerj_  thing  in 
nature,  -says  Emerson,  is  bipolar,  or  has  a  positive  and 
negative  pole.  There  is  a  male  and  female,  a  spirit 
and  a  fact,  a  north  and  a  south.  Spirit  is  the  positive, 
the  event  is  the  negative.  Will  is  the  north,  action 
the  south,  pole."  l  "  Whilst  the  world  is  thus  dual,  he 
says,  so  is  every  one  of  its  parts.  The  entire  system 
of  things  gets  represented  in  every  particle.  There  is 
somewhat  tliat  resembles  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea, 
day  and  night,  man  and  woman,  in  a  single  needle  of 
the  pine,  in  a  kernel  of  corn,  in  each  individual  of 
every  animal  tribe."  2  This  polarity  appears  as  motion 
and  rest,3  so  that  nature  is  one  stuff  with  two  ends  ;  or 
as  nature  and  thought  in  perpetual  tilt  and  balance.4 
In  man  it  is  expressed  as  a  double  consciousness,  as  a 
private  and  public  nature  whose  interests  are  not  the 
same.5 


1  Essays,  second  series,  p.  98.  2  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  80,  87. 

8  Essays,  second  series,  pp.  175,  176.    4  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  30. 
6  Ibid.',  p.  40. 


NATURE.  295 

As  nature  and  thought  are  the  magnetic  poles  of  the 
TJrp  vp/rsn.1  Miml.  n.s  both  inhprn  in  and  are  nothing 
apart  from  that  Central  Life  they  manifest,  it  follows 
•,-they  exactly  correspond  to  each  other.  Tkoy  rpflppj-, 
\fl.m] — rnTprprpt,  ^q^h  Hie  other.  ^They  are  identical  in 
Tin/hire,  i  rlp.ntip.n.1  in  their  laws,  identical  in  the  impres- 
sion  they  make,  simply  because  each  is  the  Universal 
Spirit  in  its  positive  or  negative  form.  It  is  the  same 
magnetism,  .but  different  only  in  appearing  at  the 
opposite  ends  of  the  magnet.  This  view  of  mind  and 
matter' leads  to  the  doctrine  of  identity,  which  in  one 
form  or  another  is  a  cardinal  one  with  ,  all  the  idealists 
and  mystics.,  Even  so  orthodox  a  mystic  as  William 
Law  says,  "  Body  and  Spirit  are  not  two  separate, 
independent  things,  but  are  necessary  to  each  other, 
and  are  only  the  inward  and  outward  conditions  of 
one  and  the  same  being."  l  The  doctrine  of  identity 
Emerson  expresses  in  these  words :  "  A  perfect  parallel 
ism  exists  between  nature  and  the  laws  of  thought."  2 
This  relation  between  matter  and  mind,  he  says,  is  not 
a  fancied  one,  but  stands  in  the  will  of  God ; 3  so  that 
"  the  laws  of  .the  moral  nature  answer  to  those  of 
matter  as  face  to  face  in  a  glass." 4  ."  Intellect  and 
morals  appear  only  the  material  forces  011  a  higher 
plane.  The-  laws  of  material  nature  run  up  into  the 
invisible  world  of  the  mind,"  and  in  those  laws  we  find 
a  key  to.  the  facts  of  human  consciousness.5  Identifr^X 
of  nature  and  man,  matter  and  mind,  object  and  sub-  \ 
ject,  gives  the  basis  and  the  means  of  knowledge. 
"  Things  are  so  strictly  related,  that  from  one  object 
the  parts  and  properties  of  any  other  may  be  pre 
dicted."  6  Man  and  nature  are  so  much  alike,  that  man 
•can  know  naturp  by  what  it  is  in  \  himself.  "  Man  car 
ries  the  world  in  'his  head,  the  whole  astronomy  and 
chemistry  suspended  in  a  thought.  Because  the  his 
tory  of  nature  is  charactered  in  his  brain,  therefore  is  J 
he  the  jirophet  and  discoverer  of  her  secrets." 7  Man  ' 

1  Spirit  of  Love.  2  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  p.  7. 

3  Ibid.,  pp.  8,  9.  4  Nature,  pp.  30,  31. 

5  Perpetual  Forces,  p.  273.  6  Essays,  second  series,  p.  177. 
7  Ibid.,  p.  178. 


296  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

can  understand  the  objective  world,  only  because  he 
is  of  like  nature  with  it.  The  maxim  of  Plotinus, 
Boehme,  and  Schelling,  that  "  like  can  be  known  only 
by  like,"  is  fully  accepted  by  Emerson. 

"  The  possibility  of  interpretation,  he  says,  lies  in  the  identity  of 
the  observer  with  the  observed.  Each  material  thing  has  its  celes 
tial  side;  has  its  translation,  through  humanity,  into  the  spiritual 
and  necessary  sphere,  where  it  plays  a  part  as  indestructible  as  any 
other."  Man  "is  not  representative,  but  participant.  Like  caii 
only  be  known  by  like.  The  reason  why  he  knows 'about  them  155, 
that  he  is  of  them  ;  he  has  just  come  out  of  nature,  or  from  being  a 
part  of  that  thing.  Animated  chlorine  knows  of  chlorine,  and 'in 
carnate  zinc,  of  zinc.  Their  quality  makes  his  career;  and  he  can 
variously  publish  their  virtues,  because  they  compose  him.  Man, 
made  of  the  dust  of  the  world,  does  not  forget  his  origin ;  and  all 
-that  is  yet  inanimate  will  one  day  speak  and  reason."  l 

The  material  world  Emerson  regards  as  precipitated 
^  mind,  while  Nature  is  a  symbol  ot  the  AL'solntfiT  1\  fat 
ter  is  undeveloped  mind.  He  says  "  that  which  once 
existed  in  intellect  as  pure  law,  has  now  taken  body  as 
Nature.  It  existed  in  the  mind  in  solution  ;  now,  it  has 
I  been  precipitated ;  and  the  bright  sediment  is  the 

J  world . " 2  >&L-J£&we  Em eraojnseems  'to  have  been 
affe ctecl  by  the  theory  of  I^ytTnus^'wIior'says  creatjpri 
resulted  from  a  tail  on  the  part  of  pure  souls,  whose 
sense-desires  Lhey  put  Coi'lli  as  nature.  IT  he  was  at  all 

f  affected  by  that  theory,  however,  it  was  only  tempo 
rarily.  He  has  regarded  matter  as  the  first  scale,  or 
sphere,  of  being.  From  it  life  rises  in  successive  forms 
of  development,  through  mind,  to  complete  union  with 
the  Universal  Spirit.  How  nature  came  to  exist  he 
seems  not  to  have  attempted  to  solve.  He  appears  to 
entertain  the  opinion  of  many  .idealists,  that  self-mani 
festation  is  a  necessity  of  the  Absolute.  The  process  of 
the  return  of  matter,  the  lowest  form  of  that  manifesta 
tion,  back  into  its  original,  he  explains  by  the  theory  of 
continuous  self-development.  "  Every  natural  fact,  he 
says,  is  an  emanation.  Not  the  cause,  but  an  ever  novel 
effect,  nature  descends  always  from  above.  Tt  is  un- 

1  Representative  Men,  p.  17.  2  Miscellanies,  p.  18!>. 


NATURE.  297 

broken  obedience.  The  beauty  of  these  fair  objects  is 
imparted  into  them  from  a  metaphysical  and  eternal 
spring.  In  all  animal  and  vegetable  forms,  the  physiol 
ogist  concedes  that  no  chemistry,  no  mechanics,  can  ac 
count  for  the  facts ;  but  a  mysterious  principle  of  life 
must  be  assumed,  which  not  only  inhabits  the  organ, 
but  makes  the  organ." l  Nature  is  alive  with  God^fluid  \ 
mid  YD1  a*1"1**  w1'^  h1'0  pT-pgp'n'pQ '  As  God  sees  nature,  it 
is  "  a  transparent  law,  not  a  mass  of  facts,"  2  —  a  method  * 
£  which  laws  are  revealed  to  the  soul  and  expressed  by^ 
it.  -v^atumis  a  revelation  to  mini  of  that  Universal  Soul 
in  which  he  belongs,  of  which .he  is  a  part ;  and  it  serves  j^ 
also  to  reveal  to  him  the  laws  of  his  own  nature.  "  The 
genesis  and  maturation  of  a  planet,  its  poise  and  orbit, 
the  bended  tree  recovering  itself  from  the  strong  wind, 
the  vital  resources  of  every  animal  and  vegetable,  are 
demonstrations  of  the  self-sufficing,  and  therefore  self- 
relying,  soul."  3  Nature  was  once  thought,  and  towards 
thought  it  always  tends.  "  The  world  is  mind  precipi 
tated,  and  thc-Yolutile  essence  is  for  ever  escaping  again 
into  the  state  of  free  thought.  Hence  the  virtue  and 
pungency  of  the  influence  on  the  mind,  of  natural  ob 
jects,  whether  inorganic  or  organized.  Man  imprisoned, 
man  crystallized,  man-  vegetative,  speaks  to  man  imper 
sonated."  4  "  Man  is  fallen  ;  nature  is  erect,  and  serves 
as  a  differential  thermometer,  detecting  the  presence  or 
absence  of  the  divine  sentiment  in  man."  5  \ 

Mature   is  growing,  ever  proceeding  towards  ^spirit.  J 
"  We  can  point  nowhere  to  any  thing  final,  but  tendency    1 
appears  on  all  hands ;  planet,  system,  constellation,  total     \ 
nature  is  growing  like  a  field  of  maize  in  July,  is  be 
coming  somewhat  else,  is  in  rapid  metamorphosis.     The 
eiubryo  does  notx  more  strive  to  be  man  than  yonder 
burr  of  light  we  call  a  nebula  tends  to  be  a  ring,    a 
comet,  a  globe,  and  a  parent  of  new  suns."6      The  in 
herent,  quickening  life  of  Nature,  natura  naturans,  is 
drawing  all  things  towards  their  perfect  realization  of 

1  Miscellanies,  p.  191.  2  Essays,  first  series,  p.  274. 

8  Ibid.,  p.  G2.  4  Essays,  second  series,  p.  190. 

6  Ibid.,  p.  174.  o  Miscellanies,  p.  194. 


298  EALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

themselves  in  spirit.     This  process  of  evolution  Emerson 
thus  describes :  — 

"  It  publishes  itself  in  creatures,  reaching  from  particles  to  spicula, 
through  transformation  on  transformation  to  the  highest  symme 
tries,  arriving  at  consummate  results  without  a  shock  or  a  leap.  A 
little  heat,  that  is,  a  little  motion,  is  all  that  differences  the  bald, 
dazzling  white,  and  deadly  cold  poles  of  the  earth  from  the  prolific 
tropical  climates.  All  changes  pass  without  violence,  by  reason  of 
the  two  cardinal  conditions  of  boundless  space  and  boundless  time. 
.  .  .  How  far  off  is  the  trilobite,  how  far  the  quadruped  I  how  in 
conceivably  remote  is  man !  All  duly  arrive,  and  then  race  af  tei 
race  of  men.  It  is  a  long  way  from  granite  to  oyster;  farther  yet 
to  Plato,  and  the  preaching  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  Yet  all 
must  come,  as  surely  as  the  first  atom  has  two  sides."  1 

Nature  is  in  a  constant  process  of  development,  grow- 
in  g  m  o  re  and  more  perfect"  Its  rocks  are  becoming  vege- 
table  ;  its  vegetables,  animal ;  its  animals,  man.  Man 
has  come  up  through  every  form  of  life  below  him,  v^t 
rexains  his  sympathies  with  every  form,  and  reprodiicesih 
his  own  development  every  phase  of  life  below  him.  In 
his  essay  on  Circles,  and  elsewhere,  Emerson  illustrates 
the  perpetual  law  of  development  through  the  law  of 
'contraries,  or  through  the  mutual  conflicts  of  the  various 
forces  of  the  world.  He  finds  there  are  no  fixtures  in 
nature,  that  permanence  is  but  a  word  of  degrees,  and 
that  every  ultimate  fact  is  but  the  first  of  a  new  series. 
In  the  essay  on  the  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,  he  shows 
how  the  Universal  Spirit  works  throughout  nature  to 
secure  what  is  right.  In  securing  the  right  a  final  vic 
tory  in  every  struggle,  progress  is  secured.  His  theory 
is  outlined  in  these  paragraphs  :  — 

"'Tis  in  the  stomach  of  plants  that  development  begins,  and 
ends  in  the  circles  of  the  universe.  'Tis  a  long  scale  from  the  go 
rilla  to  the  gentleman,  —  from  the  gorilla  to  Vlato,  K'ewton,  Shak- 
spere, —  to  the  sanctities  of  religion,  the  refinements  of  legislation, 
the  summits  of  science,  art,  and  poetry.  The  beginnings  are  slow 
and  infirm,  but  'tis  an  always  accelerated  march.  The  geologic 
world  is  chronicled  by  the  growing  ripeness  of  the  strata  from  lower 
to  higher,  as  it  becomes  the  abode  of  more  highly  organized  plants 
and  animals.  The  civil  history  of  men  might  be  traced  by  the  suc 
cessive  meliorations  as  marked  in  higher  moral  generalizations,— 

>,  -econd  series,  p.  174. 


NATURE.  299 

virtue  meaning  physical  courage,  then  chastity  and  temperance,  then 
justice  and  love ;  bargains  of  kings  with  peoples  of  certain  rights 
to  certain  classes,  then  of  rights  to  masses ;  then  at  last  came  the 
day  when,  as  the  historians  rightly  tell,  the  heroes  of  the  world 
were  electrified  by  the  proclamation  that  all  men  are  born  free  and 
equal. 

"  Every  truth  leads  in  another.  The  bud  extrudes  the  old  leaf, 
and  every  truth  brings  that  which  will  supplant  it.  ...  In  the 
pre-adamite,  Nature  bred  valor  only;  by  and  by  she  gets  on  to  man, 
and  adds  tenderness',  and  thus  raises  virtue  piecemeal. 

"  When  we  trace  from  the  beginning,  that  ferocity  has  uses, 
only  so  are  the  conditions  of  the  then  world  met ;  and  these  mon 
sters  are  the  scavengers,  executioners,  diggers,  pioneers,  and  fertil 
izers,  destroying  what  is  more  destructive  than  they,  and  making- 
better  life  possible.  We  see  the  steady  aim  of  Benefit  in  view  from 
the  first.  Melioration  is  the  law.  The  cruelest  foe  is  a  masked 
benefactor.  .The  wars,  which  make  history  so  dreary,  have  served 
the  cause  of  truth  and  virtue.  There  is  always  an  instinctive  sense 
of  right,  aiTvQbscure  idea^which  animates  either  party,  and  which 
in  long  periods  vindicates  itself  at  last.  Thus  a  sublime  confidence 
is  fed  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart,  that,  in  spite  of  appearances,  in 
spite  of  malignity  and  blind  self-interest,  living  for  the  moment, 
an  eternal,  beneficent  necessity  is  always  bringing  things  right; 
and,  though  wre  should  fold  our  arms,  —  which  we  can  not  do  ;  for 
our  duty  requires  us  to  be  the  very  hands  of  this  guiding  sentiment, 
and  work  in  the  present  moment,  —  the  evils  we  suffer  will  at  last 
end  themselves  through  the  incessant  opposition  of  Nature  to  every 
thixig  hurtful." 

In  speaking  of  the  correlation  of  forces,  and  other  laws 
of  nature,  he  even  more  explicitly  states  the  method  of 
this  development. 

"  These  attempts  of  latest  science  are  a  slow  showing  of  particu 
lars  of  the  broad  and  older  assertion  of  philosophers,  that  each  new 
fact  was  only  a  variety  under  the  same  old  law,  which  Newton  ex 
pressed  when  he  said,  '  The  world  was  made  at  one  cast.'  It  is 
only  a  particular  instance  of  unity  that  Button  and  the  physiologists 
taught,  when  they  showed  that  Nature,  in  the  creation  of  all  her  an 
imal  forms,  from  the  lowest  and  oldest  fossil  up  to  mammals  and 
man,  has  worked  on  one  plan,  from  which  she  has  never  swerved. 
Aw  tliis  unity  exists  in  the  organization  of  insect,  beast,  bird,  still 
ascending  to  man,  and  from  the  lowest  types  of  man  to  the  highest, 
so  it  does  not  less  declare  itself  in  the  spirit  or  intelligence  of  the 
brute.  In  ignorant  ages  it  was  common  to  vaunt  the  human  supe 
riority  by-  underrating  the  instinct  of  other  animals.  Better  dis 
cernment  finds  that  the  only  difference  is  of  less  and  more.  Ex 
periment  shows  the  dog  to  reason  as  the  hunter  does ;  and  all  the 
animals  show  the  same  good  sense  in  their  humble  walk  that  man, 


300  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

who  is  their  enemy  or  friend,  does  ;  and  if  it  be  in  smaller  measure, 
yet  it  is  not  damaged,  as  his  is  often,  by  freak  and  folly.  ISt.  Pierre 
says  of  animals,  that  a  moral  sentiment  seems  to  have  determined 
their  physical  organizations.  This  unity  of  design  in  the  creation 
—  this  unity  of  thought  —  is  the  key  to  all  science.  There  is  a 
kind  of  latent  omniscience,  not  only  in  every  man,  but  in  every 
particle;  that  convertibility  which  we  see  in  plants,  whereby  the 
same  bud  becomes  a  leaf,  bract,  sepal,  flower,  seed,  as  the  need  is, 
so  that  repairs  are  made,  and  when  one  part  is  wounded  the  defi 
ciency  is  supplied  by  another.  This  self-help  and  self-creation 
proceed  from  the  same  power  which  works  in  the  feeblest  and 
meanest  structures,  by  the  same  design  in  a  lobster,  or  in  a  worm, 
as  a  wise  man  would  if  imprisoned  in  that  low  form.  It  is  the 
effort  of  God,  the  Supreme  Intellect,  in  the  extremest  boundary  of 
his  universe ;  and  long  before  Newton,  a  broader  philosophy  as 
serted  the  perfect  agreement  between  matter  and  mind,  and  affirmed 
that  there  is  nothing  on  earth"  which  is  not  in  the  heavens  in  a  heav 
enly  form,  and  nothing  in  the  heavens  which  is  not  on  earth  in  an 
earthly  form ;  their  expression  of  that  mystery  in  which  all  poetry 
and  all  language  is  founded,  that  we  are  able  to  find  symbols  of 
our  sentiments  and  thoughts  in  the  objects  of  nature ;  that  the 
whole  of  nature  agrees  with  the  W7holc  of  thought."  l 

This  is  Schilling's  idea,  that  the  Absolute  is  to  be 
completely  perceived  in  nature.2  In  nature  he  yaw  a 
life-power  constantly  at  work,  in  a  universal  process  of 
self-evolution.  In  the  rock  and  the  pure  soul  is  the 
same  life  and  the  same  life-development.  This  life- 
power  continuously  rises  from  its  lowest  level  in  mat 
ter,  through  successive  grades  or  stages  or  scales  of 
being,  to  self-consciousness  in  man.  In  matter  there  is 
to  be  found  only  spirit  dormant,  the  possibility  of  self- 
development.  All  higher  forms  manifest  in  nature 
have  come  from  matter  by  this  life-process ;  and  man  is 
only  matter  brought  back  through  successive  potences 
or  scales  of  being  to  reason,  to  freedom,  and  self-con 
scious  realization  of  the  Infinite  Spirit.  As  we  rise 
in  the  scale,  of  being,  we  come  to  a  constantly  increas 
ing  energy,  to  greater  internal  power  and  capacity  for 
self-guidance,  and  to  a  higher  form  of  freedom.  Mat 
ter  is  subject,  man  as  a  pure  soul  is  free.  This  highest 

1  Newspaper  report  of  lecture  on   Natural   Religion,   delivered   in 
Horticultural    Hall,   Boston,  before    the    Free   Religious  Association, 
April  4,  lS(i'.». 

2  Schwegler's  History  of  Philosophy. 


NATURE.  %  301 

potence  shares  in  the  life  of  God  no  more  than  the 
tree  does,  as  Eckhart  says,  only  as  it  realizes  itself  and 
its  union  with  the  Universal  Spirit.  In  this  whole 
conception  of  nature  and  life  Emerson  shares  in  the 
theories  of  his  predecessors,  especially  as  they  have 
been  expressed  by  Schelling.  The  following  brief  sum 
mary  of  Schilling's  philosophy  might  almost  answer  as 
an  epitome  of  Emerson's  :  — 

"  Universal  unity  must  be  the  principle  of  all  interpretation  of) 
nature.  The  first  principle  of  a  philosophical  theory  of  nature  is, 
to  look  for  polarity  and  dualism  everywhere.  On  the  other  hand, 
all  consideration  of  nature  must  end  in  recognition  of  the  absolute 
unity  of  the  whole,  a  unity,  however,  which  is  to  be  discerned  in 
nature  only  on  one  of  its  sides.  Nature  is,  as  it  were,  the  instru 
ment  by  which  absolute  unity  eternally  makes  real  all  that  has 
been  pre-formed  in  the  absolute  mind.  The  absolute,  then,  is  com 
pletely  to  be  perceived  in  nature  ;  although  the  world  of  externality 
produces  only  in  series,  only  successively  and  in  infinite  gradation, 
what  is  at  once  and  eternally  in  the  world  of  truth."  1 

Emerson  regards  the  laws  working  throughout  nature 
as  the  methods  of  that  life-process  by  which  the  Uni 
versal  Spirit,  as  actualized  in  matter,  returns  into  full 
realization  of  itself  again  in  spirit.  The,  laws  of  mat 
er  are  really  the  laws  cf  spirit.  They  are  the  thoughts 
aT  God,  the  pulse-beats  of  his  being.  They  are  the 
methods  of  the  incoming  of  the  Absolute  to  nature  and 
man,  whereby  these  finite  manifestations  of  the  Uni 
versal  Spirit  are  being  drawn  up  to  complete  develop 
ment  in  harmony  with  God. 


__m_oxals,  in  thought,  m__e_very   act  of  communion   with 

God,  n*-nmP.h  a.fl   IT 


p, 

uhrir 


of  thn  rnmp  iiahirp  \     _^_    ^      

life  in  all  things,  and  an  absolule""umty  in  all  things, 
law   reigns   everywhere   with   its   invariable    methods 
He  believes  that  the  inflexible  law  of  matter  runs  up 
into  the  subtile  kingdom  of  will  and  of  thought ;  that,  if 
our  planet  never  loses  its  way  through  space, 

•  a  secrel^er  gravitation,  a  secreter  projection,  rule  not  less  tyran 
nically  in  human  history,  and  keep  the  balance  of  power  from  age 

1  Schwegler's  History  of  Philosophy,  p.  21)2. 


302  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

to  age  unbroken.  For,  though  the  new  element  of  freedom  and 
an  individual  has  been  admitted,  yet  the  primordial  atoms  are  pre 
figured  and  pre-determined  to  moral  issues,  are  in  search  of  justice, 
and  ultimate  right  is  done.  Religion  or  worship  is  the  attitude  of 
those  who  see  this  unity,  intimacy,  and  sincerity ;  who  see  that, 
against  all  appearances,  the  nature  of  things  works  for  truth  and 
right  for  ever. 

"  'Tis  a  short  sight  to  limit  our  faith  in  lawrs  to  those  of  gravity, 
of  chemistry,  of  botany,  and  so  forth.  Those  laws  do  not  stop 
where  our  eyes  lose  them,  but  push  the  same  geometry  and 
chemistry  up  into  the  invisible  plane  of  social  and  rational  life,  so 
that,  look  where  we  will,  in  a  boy's  game,  or  in  the  strifes  of  races, 
a  perfect  re-action,  a  perpetual  judgment  keeps  watch  and  ward. 
And  this  appears  in  a  class  of  facts  which  concerns  all  men,  within 
and  above  their  creeds.  .  .  .  The  curve  of  the  flight  of  the  moth  is 
pre-ordained ;  and  all  things  go  by  number,  rule,  and  weight.  .  .  . 
But,  in  the  human  mind,  this  tie  of  fate  is  made  alive.  The  law 
is  the  basis  of  the  human  mind.  In  us  it  is  inspiration ;  out  there 
in  Nature  we  see  its  fatal  strength."  1 

Emerson  finds  that  there  is  no  chance  and  no 
anarchy  in  the  universe.2  Even  man  is  hooped  on 
every  side  by  necessity,  the  necessity  of  acting  accord 
ing  to  the  eternal  laws.3  Not  even  in  a  single  case  can 
one  fantastical  will  prevail  over  the  law  of  things,  or 
in  any  manner  derange  the  order  of  nature.4  Law 
demands  as  complete  an  obedience  in  morals  as  in  mat 
ter;  for  it  is  the  "same  fact  existing  as  sentiment  and 
as  will  in  the  mind,  whicti  works  in  Nature  as  irresist 
ible  law,  exerting  influence  over  nations,  intelligent 
beings,  or  down  in  the  kingdoms  of  brute  or  of  chemi 
cal  atoms."  5  Piety  and  skepticism,  he  thinks,  unite  in 
declaring  that  nothing  is  of  us  or  our  works ;  that  all  is 
of  God.6 

All  things  are  under  the  method  and  t.Vm  ]n\v  of  thp 
Tnfim'tp.  Spirit.  A  higher  law  than  that  of  our  will  rcfk. 
ulates  events ;  for  God  exists,  and  thnre  is  tor  us  noth 
ing  but  a  believing  love  in  him.  Whatever  we  may  do, 
we  can  not  overturn  a  single  law ;  and  the  only  result 
neglecting  any  law  is  that  we  are  crippled  by  it. 

liere  is  a  soul  at  the  center  of  nature,  and  over  the 

i  Conduct  of  Life,  pp.  190-192.  «  Ibid.,  p.  287. 

3  Ibid.,  pp.  Itf,  17.  4  Ibid.,  p.  41. 

6  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,  p.  406.          6  Essays,  second  series,  p.  71, 


NATURE.  303 

.will   of  every-  mau^an   thnt   noun  of  via'  on,n  wrong  fhfi 
universe.     It  has  so  infused  its  strong  enchantment  into 
nature,  that  we  prosper  when  we  accept  its  advice  ;  and 
when  we  struggle  to  wound  its  creatures,  our  hands  are 
glued  to  our  sides,  or  they  beat  our  own  breasts.     The  ! 
whole  course  of   things  goes   to   teach   us   faith.     We\ 
need  only  obey."  1     Every  good  which  comes  to  us  is  by    j 
obedience  to  the  law  of  God,  an  obedience  which  wey 
shall  freely  elect  to  accept,  when  we  know  what  it  is  ; 
and  in  it  we  shall  find  all  our  freedom.     "  The  last  les 
son  of  life,  the  choral  song  which  rises  from  all  elements 
and  all  angels,  is  a  voluntary  obedience,  a  necessitated 
freedom."  * 

lie  illustrates  moral  and  spiritual  obedience  by  refer 
ence  to  the  laws  of  nature.  Water  drowns  us;  but,  if 
we  obey  its  conditions,  we  can  float  our  ship  on  it 
through  all  seas.  There  is  no  porter,  he  says,  like  grav 
itation.  There  are  laws  of  force,  however  ;  and  we  can 
not  tamper  with  or  warp  them.  "  Tjip  m,n.n  must  bpml 
to  the  law,  never  the  law  to  him."  All  th-e^  forces  of 
^hprrTnaii  obes"~th(nr  conditions",  become  his 


servants.  Then  u  no  force  but  Is  Tils  force;  "He  does 
not  possess  them  ;  he  is  a  pipe  through  which  their  cur 
rents  flow.  If  a  straw  be  held  still  in  the  direction  of 
the  ocean-current,  the  sea  will  pour  through  it  as  through 
Gibraltar.  If  he  should  measure  strength  with  them, 
if  he  should  fight  the  sea  and  the  whirlwind  with  his 
ship,  he  would  snap  his  spars,  tear  his  sails,  and  swamp 
his  bark  ;  but  by  cunningly  dividing  the  force,  tapping 
the  tempest  for  a  little  side-wind,  he  uses  the  monsters, 
and  they  carry  him  where  he  would  go."  8  Until  the 
other  day  steam  was  a  devil  to  be  dreaded  ;  but  we  have 
learned  its  law,  become  obedient  to  it,  and  now  it  is  one 
of  our  best  servants.  Emerson  finds  that  right  drainage 
destroys  typhus,  that  every  other  pest  is  not  less  in  the 
chain  of  cause  and  effect,  and  may  be  fought  off.  4  As 
we  make  all  material  forces  our  servants  and  helpers  by 

i  Essays,  first  series,  p.  124.  2  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  201) 

3  Perpetual  Forces,  North  American  Review,  September,  1877,  p.  274, 
*  Conduct  of  Life,  pp.  27,  28. 


304  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON". 

accepting  their  conditions  and  obeying  their  laws,  so 
"  we  arrive  at  virtue  by  taking  its  direction  instead  of 
imposing  ours." 

"  The  forces  are  infinite.  Every  one  has  the  might  of  all ;  for 
the  secret  of  the  world  is  that  its  energies  are  solidaires ;  that  they 
work  together  on  a  system  of  mutual  aid,  all  for  each  and  each  for 
all ;  that  the  strain  made  on  one  point  bears  on  every  arch  and 
foundation  of  the  structure.  But  if  you  wish  to  avail  yourself  of 
their  might,  and  in  like  manner  if  you  wish  the  force  of  the  intel 
lect  and  the  force  of  the  will,  you  must  take  their  divine  direction, 
not  they  yours.  Obedience  alone  gives  the  right  to  command.  It 
is  like  the  village  operator  who  taps  the  telegraph-wire  and  surprises 
the  secrets  of  empires  as  they  pass  to  the  capital.  So  this  child  of 
the  dust  throws  himself  by  obedience  into  the  circuit  of  the  heav 
enly  wisdom,  and  shares  the  secret  of  God."  l 

From  his  doctrine  of  universal  law  grows  Emerson's 
[first  moral  principle,  that  of  self-renunciation.\  We-  -""'p 
torenounce  all  that  is  individual,  personalTaiKr  selfish, 
and  to  follow  the  universal  ends  oi"  liliLUre. "  We" 
can  not  l^uidy  w,»rds  with  nature;  and  if  we  measure' 
our  individuaf^CTrces-rrgnirisTTiers,  we  may  easily  feel  as 
if  we  were  the  sport  of  an  insuperable  destiny."  2  "  We 
can  not  bring  the  heavenly  powers  to  us  ;  but,  if  we  will 
only  choose  our  jjbs  in  directions  in  which  they  travel, 
they  will  undertake  them  with  the  greatest  pleasure. 
It  is  a  peremptory  rule  with  them,  that  they  never  go 
out  of  their  road."3  But  if  we  take  their  way,  all  is 
strength  and  peace  for  us.  By  renouncing  cur  own  will 
and  accepting  theirs,  we  gainall  the  might  of  their 
power,  Tind  till  Wisdom  conies  in  Upon  us.  "  We  need 
only  obey.  There  is  guidance  for  each  of  us,  and  by 
lowly  listening  we  shall  hear  the  right  word."  4  "  There 
is  a  principle  which  is  the  basis  of  things,  which  till 
speech  aims  t  >  say,  and  all  action  to  evolve,  a  simple, 
quiet,  undescribed,  (indescribable  presence,  dwelling 
very  peacefully  in  us,  our  rightful  lord;  we  are  not  to 
do,  but  to  let  do  ;  not  to  work,  but  to  be  worked  upon  ; 
and  to  this  homage  there  is  a  consent  of  all  thoughtful 
and  just  men  in  all  ages  and  conditions."5  How  im- 

1  Perpetual  Forces,  p.  L'7(.).  2  Essays,  second  series,  p.  188. 

3  Society  and  Solitude,  p.  20.  4  Essays,  lirst  series,  p.  1-4. 

6  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  185. 


NATURE.  305 

perative  he  makes  this  condition  of  self-renunciation  and 
obedience  to  God  may  be  seen  when  he  says  that  the 
true  artist  "  must  disindividualize  himself,  and  be  a  man 
of  no  party  and  no  manner  and  no  age,  but  one  through 
whom  the  soul  of  all  men  circulates,  as  'the  common  air 
through  the  lungs.  He  must  work  in  the  spirit  in 
which  we  conceive  a  prophet  to  speak,  or  an  angel  of 
the  Lord  to  act;  that  is,  he  is  not  to  speak  his  own 
words,  or  do  his  own  works,  or  think  his  own  thoughts  ; 
but  he  is  to  be  an  organ  through  which  the  universal 
mind  acts."  l  Not  only  is  this  the  manner  of.  action  for 
the  artist,  .but  for  all  .men  in  all  vocations.  It  is  the 
method  by  which  wisdom  is  to  be  obtained,  and  that  by 
which  character  is  to  be  possessed.  Emerson  would 
say  as  strongly  as  Epictetus  does,  that  we  are  to  be  ab- 
sojlutely  resigned  to  the  will  of  God.  We  are  to  have  \ 
Sno  othe^  thought  no.  other  wish,  than  to  become^pgr^ 

to  God,  accejiting  his  laws,  cioing^iis 
will,  becoming  the  organs  through  whichhe  acis^\|    By  / 
reifoucino;   all   that   is  individual   ancP  particular,  byZ. 

the  law  ot^  God,  the  Uver-soui  becomes  our/ 
we  are~Tll'aWii  into  the1  'rtKHiiccls  of  the  uni- 


Then  all  liuth  op(vii&  bifure  us,  and  we 
iiy  uf  pe^ce. 

^      Nature  ia  a  perfect  symbol  of  the  spiritual  ;  a  picture, 

_tp_jthe  senses  and^neljjmi^r^^^hTgiJ^the^  heavenly 

laws.     It  is  an  object-lesson   in  the  truths  ot'  the  soul, 

~~and~i4  presents  objectively  all  the  realities  of  the  Infinite. 

It  is,  especially,  a  lesson  in  moral  truths,  a  ifl&t.kQ4^of 

^discipline  to  the  soul,    ut  leads  us  to  freedom  through 

'    obedien££,  and  to  know  that  we  can  come  to  the  highest 

seli-realization    only  as  we   become  the  organs  of   the 

Universal  Spirit. 

Emerson  has  been  as  constant  an  observer  of  nature 
as  Tyndall  or  Darwin,  but  his  method  of  interpretation 
has  been  that  of  Schelling  and  Wordsworth.  The  value 
of  investigation  he  fully  realizes,  and  he  makes  no  mis 
takes  in  his  own  use  of  scientific  facts.  To  one  who 

1  Society  and  Solitude,  p.  43. 


30G  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

spoke  to  him  of  the  help  received  from  his  pages,  he 
gave  this  statement  of  his  own  method :  — 

"  The  fields  and  forests,  the  life  of  plants  and  animals,  and  the 
teeming  industries  of  men,  on  every  hand,  are  open  to  the  vision  of 
us  all.  These  have  been  my  teachers.  You  are  free  to  gather 
from  the  original  sources  as  well  as  I.  What  is  needed  by  students 
is  the  habit  of  original  investigation,  and  the  courage  to  write  down 
personal  thoughts  and  observations." 

He  has  seen  in  the  study  of  nature  a  corrective  to  the 
speculations  of  the  mind,  and  his  interest  in  this  study 
has  grown  largely  out  of  his  regarding  the  laws  of  na 
ture  as  really  laws  of  the  spiritual  world.  Elizabeth  P. 
Peabody  reports  that  in  one  of  his  lectures  in  Boston, 
in  1860,  he  said,  "  If  you  wi^h  to  understand  intellec 
tual  philosophy,  do  not  turn  inward  by  introversion,  but 
I  study  natural  science.  Every  time  you  discover  a  law 
of  things  you  discover  a  principle  of  mind."  Thus  has 
he  found  a  corrective  against  the  fancies  of  too  great 
subjectivity,  and  a  test  for  the  speculative  conclusions  of 
the  intuitive  method.  He  has  made  a  faithful  applica 
tion  of  both  corrective  and  test  in  working  out  his  own 
theories. 

He  has  caught  up  with  quick  avidity  the  ripest  con 
clusions  of  modern  science,  and  made  them  take  their 
place  in  the  world  he  interprets.  He  knows  the  value 
of  scientific  facts,  and  where  they  belong.  "  Emerson 
has  a  scientific  method,  said  his  friend  Agassiz,  of  the 
severest  kind,  and  can  not  be  carried  away  by  any  theo 
ries."  Another  great  scientific  teacher,  Tyndall,  as  the 
result  of  his  careful  and  frequent  reading  of  Emerson's 
books,  pronounces  this  striking  judgment :  — 

"  In  him  we  have  a  poet  and  a  profoundly  religious  man,  who  is 
really  and  entirely  undaunted  by  the  discoveries  of  science,  past, 
present,  and  prospective.  In  his  case,  poetry,  with  the  joy  of  a 
bacchanal,  takes  her  graver  brother  science  by  the  hand,  and  cheers 
him  with  immortal  laughter.  By  Emerson  scientific  conceptions 
are  continually  transmuted  into  the  finer  forms  and  warmer  lines  of 
an  ideal  world." 


MIND,    AND   THE   OVER-SOUL.  307 


XXII. 

MIND,    AND   THE   OVER-SOUL. 

MIXD  is  the  positive  manifestation  of  the  Universal 
Spirit.  Because  positive,  it  is  the  source  and  cen- 
tgr_  of  things.  Emerson  thinks  we  can  not  define  it, 
that  we"know  not  what  it  is  but  as  we  see  and  realize  it 
in  ourselves.  In  HQJIII  it  appears  as  intellect,  but  it  is 
gllsfjpptihl°  nf  T^  ^Tyidnngi  Tf.  fst'  f.t^  same  power,  the 
same-  faculty,  when  it  acts  as  will,  reason,  or  affections, 
and  in  every  manifestation  acts  as  a  single  force.  This 
view  of  mind  is  shared  HI  by  the  school  of  thinkers  to 
which  he  belongs,  and  has  been  made  prominent  in  the 
writings  of  Carlylc.  Tkojiiiind  is  both  that  which  sees 
and  that  which  is  seen.  It  is  hid  from  our  cunning 
definitions,  as  from  our  comprehension,  through  its 
perfect  transparency,  and  is  too  near  for  us  to  realize  its 
nature.  All  the  terms  of  mind,  he  says,  are  derived 
from  those  of  matter  ;  and  all  the  laws  of  matter  can  be 
applied  to  thought  by  evident  analog}7-.  This  is  true, 
hopflyqaft  min'1  \\\v\  mattf"*  TP^  nn°  in._fh°.  Universal  Spirit, 
corresponding  precisely  wiUi  each  other.  Every  law  of 
nature,  he  said  in  his  lectures  on  the  Natural  History  of 
tlKT"Tntellcct,  is  a  law  of  mind  ;  and  these  laws  are  to  be 
discovered  by  the  aohlr  microscope  of  analogy.  To 
gravity  or  central!  ly  in  matter  corresponds  truth  in  the 
mind.  Polarity  is  the  next  most  universal  law  of  na 
ture,  and  to  this  corresponds  sex  in  mind.  So  he  would 
understand  the  mind,  not  by  any  a  priori  process,  but 
through  the  study  of  nature  and  the  observation  of 
their  constant  correspondence  in  methods  and  laws. 

A  brie~f  synopsis  of  this  course  of  lectures  will  give  a 
clearer  understanding  of  his  theory  of  mind,  though  it 

1  Essays,  fir*  series,  p.  L'95. 


308  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

must  necessarily  be  very  imperfect.  In  watching  the 
stream  of  thought,  he  said  in  the  third  lecture,  we  come 
upon  something  in  man  that  knows  more  than  he  does. 
This  is  instinct,  a  shapeless  giant,  unfinished  at  the  two 
extremities,  the  source  of  all  our  knowing.  Above  this 
first  crude  power  is  perception,  the  intellect  applied  to 
the  facts  of  life  and  individualizing  them.  It  sees  things 
in  relations,  discerns  their  unity.  An  acute  perception  is 
the  source  of  genius,  so  that  a  mere  hint  leads  us  into 
the  truth.  All  depends  on  the  angle  of  our  vision  as 
to  what  we  see  in  the  world,  for  mind  makes  the  world 
to  be  whatever  it  is.  The  next  faculty  is  memory, 
which  deals  in  second-hand  thoughts,  but  is  the  bitumen 
matrix  in  which  the  other  faculties  work.  Its  charac 
teristics  are  tenacity,  choice,  rapidity,  and  logic.  Then 
follows  imagination,  which  reveals  the  constant  relations 
between  matter  and  mind.  God  does  not  talk  to  us  in 
prose,  but  by  use  of  symbols,  correspondences,  and  hints ; 
and  imagination  takes  hold  of  these,  and  reveals  how 
nature  id  the  key  to  spirit.  A  new  figure  of  speech  is 
of  immense  value  to  mankind,  and  the  productions  and 
changes  of  nature  give  rise  to  the  nouns  of  language. 
A  good  image,  drawn  from  any  simple  fact  in  nature, 
never  rests  there,  but  flies  round  the  globe  to  find  con 
stantly  new  applications  to  life.  Hence  all  physical 
facts  are  words  for  spiritual  facts.  We  are  always 
asking  how  many  mental  laws  can  be  applied  to  matter, 
how  many  diameters  can  be  drawn  clear  through  from 
mind  to  matter ;  for  the  laws  of  matter  are  but  adopted 
metaphysics.  It  is,  therefore,  the  poet  who  can  read 
the  mind,  because  he  applies  imagination  in  the  compre 
hension  of  those  analogies  which  relate  it  to  matter. 
Analysis  hinders  this  process ;  but  intuition,  with  the 
aid  of  imagination,  reads  the  secret.  The  imagination 
transubstantiates  evcry-day  bread  into  everlasting  sym 
bols.  After  imagination  follows  inspiration,  the  know 
ing  of  truth.  He  made  genius  his  next  topic,  and  said 
its  characteristic  is  a  neglect  of  yesterday  in  reliance  on 
the  inspiration  of  to-day.  It  breaks  all  rules,  and  train- 
pies  on  the  laws  of  the  race  with  its  string  sandals.  It 


MIND,    AND    THE   OVEE-SOUL.  309 

looks  after  causes,  and  it  mortgages  the  one  whom  it 
possesses  to  his  ideas.  He  defined  genius  and  common 
sense  as  being  of  the  same  family,  and  said  that  an 
ounce  of  mother-wit  is  worth  a  pound  of  clergy. 

Turning  from  the  faculties  of  the  mind  to  its  laws,  he 
said  that  physical  laws  may  be  applied  to  mental  phe 
nomena,  not  only  qualitatively  but  quantitatively.  In 
proportion  to  the  clearness  with  which  the  law  of  iden 
tity  is  perceived,  is  the  depth  of  the  mind.  The  first 
law  of  mind,  then,  is  identity  ;  and  it  is  quite  indifferent 
whether  we  say  "  all  is  matter  "  or  "  all  is  spirit."  The 
second  law  is  that  of  degree,  constant  ascent  from  egg 
to  full  growth.  It  is  the  scale  in  the  mind,  by  which 
we  rank  thoughts  and  put  the  sensual  as  lower  than 
the  moral.  The  third  law  is  that  of  detachment,  the 
power  to  make  subjects  objects,  to  separate  sensations 
from  each  other,  to  regard  thoughts  as  apart  from  our 
own  mind.  It  separates  the  mind  from  what  it  ob 
serves,  and  it  is  a  measure  of  intellectual  power.  An 
other  law  is  pace,  the  measure  of  the  mind's  rapidity. 
It  makes  degrees  of  intellect,  for  rapidity  of  movement 
in  thoughts  determines  the  capacity  of  the  mind.  Life 
is  age-long  to  him  who  uses  the  telegraph  in  thought. 
The  law  of  bias  is,  like  the  universal  polarity  of  matter, 
a  bent  of  the  mind  in  a  certain  direction ;  so  that  each 
soul  is  unique,  has  a  special  capacity.  It  is  a  Divine 
whisper  to  each  soul ;  but  the  voice  is  still  after  it  is 
given,  and  we  may  obey  it  or  not.  God  makes  but  one 
of  each  kind,  and  a  bias  in  some  one  direction  is  the 
first  mark  of  a  master.  In  the  last  lecture  he  spoke  of 
veracity  as  the  primary  rule  of  the  intellect.  He  said 
there  is  too  much  negation  in  the  world,  and  that  the 
highest  minds  are  affirmative.  The  bulwark  of  moral 
ity  is  found  in  not  accepting  degrading,  negative  views ; 
nor  was  any  thing  ever  gained  by  acknowledging  the 
omnipotence  of  limitations. 

As  matter  is  the  negative  manifestation  of  the  Uni 
versal  Spirit,  and  has  all  its  life  and  its  development 
through  the  direct  immanence  of  the  Absolute,  so  is 
rniiid  an  expression  of  the  Universal  Spirit  in  its  posi- 


310  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

tivejpow£r>  Man  is  the  Universal  Spirit  present  in  a 
material  organism.  He  is  of  the  Divine,  he  lives  in 
the  Divine ;  every  power  he  manifests  is  that  of  the 
Divine  Life.  Emer&qn  does  not  regard  the  human  soul 
as  a  separate  indivi&ttttlily,  lGtulljr--6ut  off  from  other 
beings,  but  a§  a  manifestation  of  the  Universal  Being. 
He  says,  "  the  soul  111  mull  is"  nol  nil  OTgall,  but  animates 
and  exercises  all  the  organs  ;  is  not  a  function,  like  the 
power  of  memory,  of  calculation,  of  comparison,  but 
uses  these  as  hands  and  feet ;  is  not  a  faculty,  but  a 
light ;  is  not  the  intellect  or  the  will,  but  the  master  of 
the  intellect  and  the  will ;  is  the  background  of  our 
being,  in  which  they  lie,  —  an  immensity  not  possessed, 
and  that  can  not  be  possessed.  From  within  or  from 
behind,  a  light  shines  through  us  upon  things,  and  makes 
us  aware  that  we  are  nothing,  that  the  light  is  all."  * 
This  "  background  of  our  being  "  was  understood  by 
Eckhart,  who  wrote  of  it  as  a  "  simple  ground  "  in  the 
soul,  where  man  is  in  perfect  union  \vith  God.  It  is 
the  soul  as  it  was  before  separated  from  God  in  a  life  of 
desire  and  individual  self-seeking.  Eckhart  says,  — 

"  There  is  something  in  the  soul  which  is  above  the  soul,  divine, 
simple,  an  absolute  Nothing.  ...  I  have  called  it  a  Power,  some 
times  an  Uncreated  Light,  sometimes  a  Divine  Spark.  It  is  abso 
lute,  and  free  from  all  names  and  forms,  as  God  is  free  and  absolute 
in  himself.  It  is  higher  than  knowledge,  higher  than  love,  higher 
than  grace ;  for  in  all  these  there  is  distinction.  .  .  .  This  Light  is 
satisfied  only  with  the  super-essential  essence.  It  is  bound  on  enter 
ing  into  the  simple  ground,  the  still  waste,  wherein  is  no  distinc 
tion,  neither  Father,  Son,  nor  Holy  Ghost,  —  into  the  unity  where 
no  man  dwelleth.  There  is  it  satisfied  in  the  light,  there  it  is  one ; 
there  is  it  in  itself,  as  this  Ground  is  a  simple  stillness  in  itself, 
immovable." 

This  is  the  doctrine/  o|^theOver-soul,  as  conceived 
In  th.e.  fourteenth  century*  by  lliu  lafehor  of  German 
4t  is  tne  conceptibn  Of  J^jJiiiL  -as  one,  that 
is  a  state  in  the  soul  wherein  it  is  in  perfect 
union  with  the  world  of  souls.  This  idea  of  the  ground 
in  the  soul  Tauter  still  furiher  developed.  lie  calls  it 
the  center  of  the  soul,  that  depth  where  God  always 

1  Essays,  first  series,  p.  240. 


MIND,    AND   THE   OVER-SOUL.  811 

dwells.  To  him  it  is  the  moral  sentiment,  that  eternal 
sense  of  the  right  which  abides  unchanged  in  the  soul 
of  man.  This  center  of  man's  nature  is  so  grounded  in 
God  that  the  spirit  is  sunk  and  dissolved  in  the  inmost 
of  the  Divine  nature.  Through  this  ground  "  God  pours 
himself  _out_jnto  our  spirit^  as  the  sun  rays  forth  its  nat 
ural  light  into  the  air ,  and  hlls  it  with  sunshine,  so  that 
no  eye  can  tell  the  difference  between  the  sunshine  and 
the  air.  If  the  union  of  the  sun  and  air  can  not  be  dis 
tinguished,  how  far  less  this  divine  union  of  the  created 
and  uncreated  Spirit !  Our  spirit  is  received  and  swal- 
Jowed  up  in  the  abyss  which  is  its  source^  This 

/Ground,  Spark,  or  Light,  is -a,  depth  in  the  soul  where 
the  divine  and  the  human  arc  one,  and  wherein  the  soul 
is  not  conscious  of  distinction  from  God. 

After  this  idea  had  been  carried  some  steps  farther  on 
in  its  development,  -WP.  find  Schelling  ._declanmy  that 

Jiiere  is  but  one  ^nsnr|-  ^the . JmmaiT  ancT  the  di v me 
being  identical.  From  him  this  thought  was  taken*  up 
by  Cole]4dg^--wlia^&i>s^^  Coleridge 

believed  in  a  supersensuous,  impersonal  light  in  man, 
which  he  calls  reason  ;  and  he  identifies  it  with  the 
Universal  Reason. 

"  He  speaks  of  Reason  as  an  immediate  beholding  of  supersensi 
ble  things,  as  the  eye  which  sees  things  transcending  sense.  He 
identifies  lleason  in  the  human  mind  with  Universal  Reason ;  calls 
it  impersonal ;  indeed,  regards  it  as  a  ray  of  the  Divinity  in  man. 
In  one  place  he  makes  it  one  with  the  light  which  lighteth  every 
man  ;  and  in  another  he  says  that  Reason  is  the  presence  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  in  the  finite  understanding,  at  once  the  light  and  the  univer 
sal  eye.  It  can  not  be  rightly  called  a  faculty,  lie  says,  much  less  a 
personal  property  of  any  human  mind.  We  can  not  be  said  to  pos 
sess  Reason,  but  rather  to  partake  of  it ;  for  there  is  but  one  Rea 
son,  which  is  shared  by  all  intelligent  beings,  and  is  in  itself  the 
Universal  or  Supreme  Reason.  He  in  whom  Reason  dwells  can  as 
little  appropriate  it  as  his  own  possession,  as  he  can  claim  owner 
ship  in  the  breathing  air,  or  take  in  the  cope  of  heaven."  l 

Emerson_  writes  of  the  Universal  Mind, .or  the  Q.ver- 
soul,  as  Qcvleridge  writes  of  the  Universal  Reason.  It  is 
one  aihd  universal,  and.  is  a  iignt!  wtnch___pjiasfisses  and 

1  Sliairp's  Studies  in  Poetry  and  Philosophy,  p.  168. 


312  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

guides  man,.  To  this  idea  Emerson  adds  the  conception 
of  God  as  the  soul  of  the  world,  as  the  Universal  Mind 
pervading  all  things,  and  regards  the  human  mind  as  ail 
integral  part  of  the  Absolute  Mi  ml.  So  he  says  there 
"  one  mind  common  tQ  all  individual  men,"  \vhjle 
ueverv  man  is  a.n  inlet  to  the  samfi  and"to  all  of  the 
Siiiiie."  [  \Thid  common  mind  in  all  men  is  the^ver- 
soul.  Each  person  is  an  inlet  out  of  this  great  ocelot, 
anc[  it  pours  the  same  waters  into  all.  We  are  filled 
with  this  flood,  and  are  nothing  but  dry  and  dusty 
banks  without  it.  To  Emerson,  as  to  Tanler  and  Col 
eridge,  the  Dvgr-sn]]]  is  within  us  a  mornl  In.w ;  so  that  ' 
we  learn  what  is  right  and  true,  not  by  exjperience,  but^ 
Because,  there  is,  ip  us  t.hP.  trmni-.mn*Qj  au  wisdom  and 
-auliiiilily-  Man  can  know  the  truth,  because  God  is  a 
light  within  him  revealing  all  things.  The  suggestions 
given  him  by  Schelling  and  Coleridge  he  has  developed 
into  a  consistent  theory  of  knowledge  and  of  the  rela 
tions  of  man  to  God.  Sometimes  almost  in  the  very 
phrases  of  Coleridge  he  announces  his  central  doctrine 
of  the  "  Over-soul  :"  — 

"  Our  first  experiences,  he  says,  in  moral  as  in  intellectual  nature, 
force  us  to  discriminate  a  universal  mind,  identical  in  all  men. 
Certain  biases,  talents,  executive  skills,  are  special  to  each  indi 
vidual  ;  but  the  high,  contemplative,  all-commanding  vision,  the 
sense  of  Right  and  Wrong,  is  alike  in  all.  Its  attributesWe  self- 
existence,  eternity,  intuition,  and  command.  It  is  the  mincl  of  the 
mind;  we  belong  to  it,  not  it  to  us.  It  is  in  all  men,  and  aansti- 
tutes  them  men.  In  bad  men  it  is  dormant,  as  health  is  in  men 
entranced  or  drunken ;  but,  however  inoperative,  it  exists  under 
neath  whatever  vices  and  errors.  The  extreme  simplicity  of  this 
intuition  embarrasses  every  attempt  at  analysis.  We  can  only 
mark,  one  by  one,  the  perfections  which  it  combines  in  every  act. 
It  admits  of  no  appeal,  looks  to  no  superior  essence.  It  is  the 
reason  of  things. 

"  The  antagonist  nature  is  the  individual,  formed  into  a  finite 
body  of  exact  "dimensions,  with  appetites  which  take  from  everybody 
else  what  they  appropriate  to  themselves,  and  would  enlist  the 
entire  spiritual  faculty  of  the  individual,  if  it  were  possible,  in 
catering  for  them.  On  t lie  perpetual  conflict  between  the  dictate  of 
this  universal  mind  and  the  wishes  and  interests'  of  the  individual, 
the  moral  discipline  of  life  is  built.  The  one  craves  a  private 

1  Essays,  first  scries,  p.  3. 


MIND,    AND   THE   OVER-SOUL.  313 

benefit,  which  the  other  requires  him  to  renounce  out  of  respect  to 
the  absolute  good.  Every  hour  puts  the  individual  in  a  position 
where  his  wishes  aim  at  something  which  the  sentiment  of  duty  for 
bids  him  to  seek.  lie  that  speaks  the  truth  executes  no  private 
function  of  an  individual  will,  but  the  world  utters  a  sound  by  his 
lips.  He  who  doth  a  just  action  seeth  therein  nothing  of  his  own  ; 
but  an  inconceivable  nobleness  attaches  to  it,  because  it  is  a  dictate 
of  the  general  mind.  We  have  no  idea  of  power  so  simple  and 
so  entire  as  this.  It  is  the  basis  of  thought,  it  is  the  basis  of  being. 
Compare  all  that  we  call  ourselves,  all  our  private  and  personal 
venture  in  the  world,  with  this  deep  of  moral  nature  in  which  we 
lie,  and  our  private  good  becomes  an  impertinence,  and  we  take 
part  with  hasty  shame  against  ourselves."  l 


Ahf>vp,   the   imlivirhiiil     ma.n,    fh*?n,    is    this  -          , 

"within  which  every  man's  particular  being  is  con- 
tained  and  made  one  with  all  others."  Jt  is  a  "  Unity," 
"  the  eternal  One  ;  "  and  "  man  is  the  facade  of  this  tem 
ple  wherein  all  wisdom  and  all  good  abide."  2  Eacliiajji- 
vigliial  man  is  an  incarnation  of  this  universal  .man,  and 
i.-.  Ui.-»  QT.Q  oil  UP  pT.^p^+;QO  QVpT.QQQQri  T^rr  jo  foyijj 

Aine  Ileason,  which  is  the  mind  of  the  \vorld;  and  every 
man  is  an  i  n  1  ^T~To'  ^rTj^TT^TX  T  i  "he,  (  Prer-son  1  d  es}  cends 
jnto  mainland  he  is  a  pensioner  on  its  bounty,  bal^loss 
without  it.  On  this  side  of  our  natures  Emerson  sees 
go  separation  of  man  from  God  ;  but  as  this  is  true  only 
on  one  side,  V>A  f]po.g  apf  rp<ra.rd  man  as  a  mere  manifesta 
tion  of  God.  "  As  there  is  no  screen  or  ceiling,  he  says, 
between  our  heads  and  the  infinite  heavens,  so  is  there 
no  bar  or  wall  in  the  soul  where  man,  the  effect,  ceases, 
and  God,  the  cause,  begins.  The  walls  are  taken  away. 
We  lie  open  on  one  side  to  the  deeps  of  spiritual  nature, 
to  the  attributes  of  God."  4  This  unity  of  man  and  God 
he  finds  to  be  so  intimate,  that  he  says  to  us,  — 

"  Draw,  if  thou  canst,  the  mystic  line, 
Severing  rightly  his  from  thine, 
Which  is  human,  which  divine."  5 

tWhen  man  is  perfectly  obedient  to  the  workings  of  the 
Over-souCand  becomes  just  at  heart,  "then  in  so  far 

1  Essay  on  Character,  in  the  North  American  Tleview  for  April,  180(5. 
iDrcggnya,  fir*t.  series.  PP-  244-24(5.  a  Society  and  Solitude,  'p.  45. 

4  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  '2te,  747.  6  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  173. 


314  EALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

is  he  God ;  the  safety  of  God,  the  immortality  of  God, 
the  majesty  of  God,  do  enter  into  that  man  with  jus 
tice  "  and  obedience.1  "  Ineffable  is  the  union  of  man 
and  God  in  every  act  of  the  soul.  The  simplest  per 
son.,  wIjQ  in  his  integrity  worships  God,  becomes  (iocTT 
vet  for  ever  and  over  the  influx  of  this  Letter  and  uni 
versal  self  is  new  and  unsearchable."  2  Tn  snp.]i  words 
as  these  Emerson  is  thoroughly  a  mystic.  Eckhart  has 
the  same  meaning,  when  he  says,  "  God  and  I  are  one  in 
knowing,  God's  essence  is  his  knowing,  and  God's  know 
ing  makes  me  to  know  him.  Therefore  is  his  knowing 
my  knowing.  The  eye  whereby  I  see  God  is  the  same 
eye  whereby  he  seeth  me ;  mine  eye  and  the  eye  of  God 
are  one  eye,  one  vision,  one  knowledge,  and  one  love." 

The  idea  of  Eckhart  and  Emerson,  as  it  is  of  Boehme, 
Schelling,  Coleridge,  and  all  others  who  accept  the  con 
clusions  (,f  mysticism,  is  that  of  the  absolute  oneness 
of  the  Universal  Spirit,  that  there  is  but  one  essential 
being  and  life,  that  this  life  is  present  in  all  things,  that 
man  has  his  life  in  the  Universal  Spirit,  that  all  his 
thinking  is  its  expression  through  him.3  Eckhart  says 
the  soul  is  in  God,  and  God  in  her ;  and  what  she 
doeth  she  doeth  in  God,  and  God  doeth  in  her.  Tauler 
tells  us  that  "  the  spirit  becomes  the  very  truth  which 
it  apprehends.  God  is  apprehended  by  God.  We 
become  one  with  the  same  light  with  which  we  see, 
and  which  is  both  the  medium  and  object  of  our 
vision."  He  says  again,  "  God  is  a  Spirit ;  and  our 
created  spirit  must  be  united  to  and  lost  in  the 
uncreated,  even  as  it  existed  in  God  before  creation. 
Every  moment  in  which  the  soul  re-enters  into  God  a 
complete  restoration  takes  place.  This  is  when  the 

1  Miscellanies,  p.  178.  2  Essays,  first  series,  p.  205. 

3  Fichte,  in  his  Characteristics  of  the  Present  Age,  says  the  indi 
vidual  is  but  a  "  single  ray  of  the  on"  universal  and  necessary  Thought  " 
"There,  is  hut  One  Life,  lie  says,  hut  OIK-  animating  power,  one  Living 
Reason,  which  is  the  only  possible  independent  and  self-sustaining 
Kxistenrr  and  Life,  of  which  all  that  seems  to  us  to  exist  and  live  is 
but  a  modification,  definition,  variety,  and  form."  He  again  says  t  hat 
"•it  is  only  by  and  to  mere  earthly  and  finite  perception,  that  this  one 
and  homogeneous  Life  of  Reason  is  broken  up  and  divided  into  separate 
individual  persons." 


MIND,   AND   THE   OVER-SOUL.  815 

inmost  of  the  spirit  is  sunk  and  dissolved  in  the  inmost 
of  the  divine  nature,  and  is  thus  new-made  and  trans 
formed.  God  thus  paura  himself  out  into  our  spirit,  as 
-tli P.  qnri  rays  forth  its  material  light,  and  fills  the  air 
with  sunshine,  so  that  no  eye  can  tell  the  difference 
between  the  sunshine  and  the  air."  In  the  godly  man 
"  God  lives,  forms,  ordains,  and  works."  Then  hath 
"the  created  spirit  lost  itself  in  the  Spirit  of  God; 
yea,  is  drowned  in  the  bottomless  sea  of  Godhead." 

Emerson  not  only  sees  God  immanent  in  natiire. 
that  its  life  and  laws  are  actual  expressions  of  his  being 
and  nature,  hut  hf>  ja  inn-pan  ant  in  man,  so  that  all  his. 
thoughts  and  his  very  life  are  Prod's  thoughts  and  life. 
Man  is  an  inlet  from  the  ocean  of  Being,  a  spark  from 
off  the  Infinite  Altar,  a  needle  that  conducts  the  Mag 
netic  Power  of  the  universe.  The  Soul  of  the  world 
pours  its  truth  into  him,  and  he  is  what  it  makes  him 
to  become.  The  Over-soul  is  that  Infinite  Life,  in 
which  all  souls  find  their  common  origin  and  continued 
existence.  It  is  the  banyan-tree  of  Eternity,  which 
sends  down  a  multitude  of  shoots  to  grow  as  separate 
trees,  but  above  are  all  united  in  one  common  life.  So 
the  -  Over-soul  sends  down  into  Nature  its  growing 
branches  of  truth,  and  these  take  root  as  human 
beings;  but  above  .they  are  united  in  the  Universal 
Spirit.  They  have  a  life  of  their  own,  but  they  are 
nothing  unless  constantly  sustained  by  that  Life  from 
which  they  proceed.  In  writing  of  the  doctrine  of 
compensation,  Emerson  says  men  who  can  not  accept  it 
do  not  see  "  that  He,  that  /£,  is  there,  next  and  within ; 
the  thought  of  the  thought ;  the  affair  of  affairs  ;  that 
he  is  existence,  and  take  him  from  them,  and  they 
would  not  be."  1  There  is,  then,  but  one  Soul,  the  Soul 
that  is  over  and  within  all  things. 

^All  souls  stand   in   likp.  rfjlatfinrn  to   til  in   OUT 'mil 
receive  from  it  their  life,  have  in  them   its  nature,  and 
so  have  like   endowments  and  capacities.     This  leads 
Emerson    to    the    conclusion    that     "  the     differences 

1  The  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,  p.  409;  North  American  Review,  April, 
18G6. 


316  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

between  men  in  natural  endowment  are  insignificant 
in  comparison  with  their  common  wealth."  He  goes  so 
far  as  to  say  that  everybody  knows  as  much  as  the 
savant,  because  all  stand  in  like  relations  to  the  Over- 
soul.  This  is  the  idea  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of 
his  interpretation  of  history,  that  "  there  is  one  mind 
common  to  all  individual  men."  As  nature  is  a  revela 
tion  of  God  in  the  unconscious,  so  is  history  a  revelation 
of  God  in  the  conscious  domain  of  freedom.  The  whole 
of  history  is  necessary  to  realize  the  whole  of  the  Soul, 
as  each  man  expresses  but  a  part  of  it.  Yet  we  can 
best  understand  history  by  our  own  life,  and  each  indi 
vidual  reads  all  history  in  his  own  person.  This  is 
true,  because  history  is  a  revelation  of  the  Over-soul, 
its  expression  in  time  ;  and  each  person  has  the  key  to 
it  in  himself,  for  he  has  his  life  also  in  the  Over-soul. 
History  is  a  repetition  on  a  large  scale  of  what  each 
person  experiences  and  knows.  "  Of  the  Universal 
Mind  each  individual  man  is  one  more  incarnation. 
All  its  properties  consist  in  him.  Each  new  fact  in  his 
private  experience  flashes  a  light  on  what  great  bodies 
of  men  have  done,  and  the  crises  of  his  life  refer  to 
national  crises."  l 

1  Essays,  first  series,  p.  4. 


INTUITION.  317 


XXIII. 

INTUITION. 

AS  like  can  only  be  known  by  like,  ashman  knows 
God  only  because  he.  is  of  the  nature  of  Ciod,  it 
follows  that-all  .knowing  is  a  direct  perception  or  an  in 
tuition.  \  All.  the. -mystics,  from  Plotinus  to  Emersouv 
find  in  man  8HWipej»ansaous  factor,  or  faculty,  through 
which  we  know  the  things  of  God  and  the  spiritual 
world.  ScdieiHng  calls  it  an  intellectual, intuition,  and 
Coleridge  knows  it  as  reason ;  but  it  necessarily  follows 
as  a  consequence  of  the  primary  ideas  of  mysticism. 
Eckhart  said,  "I  have  a  power  in  my  soul  which  ena 
bles  me  to  perceive  God."  "  I  know  something  higher 
than  science,  says  Schelling,  a  beholding  of  that  which 
is  in  God."  "  The  mortal  eye,  he  says,  closes  only  in 
the  highest  science  when  it  is  no  longer  the  man  who 
sees,  but  the  Eternal  Beholding  which  has  now  become 
seeing  in  him."  How  fully  Schelling  anticipated  Emer 
son's  theory  of  intuition  may  be  seen  from  this  state 
ment  of  his  teachings  on  the  subject,  — 

"  Schelling  asserts  that  there  is  a  capacity  of  knowledge  above 
or  behind  consciousness,  and  higher  than  the  understanding,  and 
that  this  knowledge  is  competent  to  human  reason,  because  this 
lleason  itself  is  identical  with  the  Absolute.  In  this  act  of  knowl 
edge,  which  he  calls  the  intellectual  intuition,  as  distinguished  from 
the  intuitions  of  sense,  there  exists  no  distinction  of  subject  and 
object,  no  contrast  of  knowledge  with  existence ;  all  difference  is 
lost  in  mere  indifference,  all  plurality  in  simple  unity.  The  Abso 
lute  is  identical  with  the  reason  which  apprehends  it.  Because 
man  is  himself  a  manifestation  of  the  Absolute,  he  can  know  the 
source  and  essence  of  his  being  only  by  falling  back  behind  the 
limits  and  conditions  of  his  phenomenal  existence,  and  knowing 
himself  as  he  really  is,  —  God.  All  things  are  God ;  in  him  we 
live  and  move  and  have  our  being.  Of  course,  the  act  is  ineffable, 
it  is  the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine,  lie  who  is  incapable  of  it 


318  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

is  incompetent  for  philosophy.  This  is  what  Cousin  means  by  his 
doctrine  of  the  impersonality  of  reason.  That  by  which  I  appre 
hend  the  truth,  he  says,  is  not  my  reason,  nor  your  reason,  but 
lleason  itself,  as  such,  or  in  abstract  ;  also,  the  truth  itself,  thus 
known,  is  not  my  truth  or  your  truth,  but  truth  as  such,  or  the 
Absolute,  identical  with  the  faculty  which  apprehends  it."  l 


accepts  in  full  the  doctrine  of  intuition,  ;ts 
it  had  been  elaborated  by  the  thinkers  who  preceded 
him.  All  .the  truth  WP.  know,  he  aays.  mines  to  na  na 

n.Ti  inst.jfiPjt.  \flnr1  VVP.  n.rp.  fn  fnmf.  f.bp  ingfinp.f-..  f.hnngl-j  ypn 
™»n  vnnrlnr  nr^  rpn^nn  fnr  wlio±  if.  tiPMiOhgli.2  All  OUT  tl'UO 

thinking  is  a  pious  reception  of  the  truth  we  have  done 
nothing  to  create.  "  We  do  not  determine  what  we 
think.  We  only  open  our  senses,  clear  away,  as  we  can, 
all  obstruction  from  the  fact,  and  suffer  the  intellect  to 
see.  We  have  Ijttlft  r.rmtvnl  nvpr  ™^  fl^ngbf^  We 
are  the  prisoners  of  ideas.  They  catch  us  up  for  mo 
ments  into  their  heaven,  and  so  fully  engage  us,  that  we 
take  no  thought  for  the  morrow,  gaze  like  children,  with 
out  an  effort  to  make  them  our  own.  By  and  by  we 
fall  out  of  that  rapture,  bethink  us  where  we  have  been, 
what  we  have  seen,  and  repeat,  as  truly  as  we  can, 
what  we  have  beheld.  As  far  as  we  can  recall  these 
ecstasies,  we  carry  away  in  the  ineffaceable  memory  the 
result  ;  and  all  men  arid  all  the  ages  confirm  it.  It  is 
called  Truth.  But  the  moment  we  cease  to  report,  and 
attempt  to  correct  and  contrive,  it  is  not  truth."  3 

In  words  such  as  these  Emerson  indicates  his  theory 
of  the  mind  and  of  knowledge.  He  maintains  that  all 
knowledge  is  a  vfivp]fl,t.iVmXnii  int.nitinn  rh'rppt.  t,n  tTio 
receiving  soul.  \  The  source  and  essence  of  genius,  of 
virtue.  aiicTof  me.  he  savs^is  that  which  we  call  sponta-, 
neity  or  instinct.  "  We  denote  "this  primary  wisdom  as 
Intuition,  whilst  all  later  teachings  are  tuitions.  In 
that  deep  force,  the  last  fact  behind  which  analysis  can 
not  go,  all  things  find  their  common  origin.."4  Thus  all 
knowing  is  a  direct,  simple  perccptio  n  .\  We  know 

1  Bowen's  Modern  Philosophy,-  p.  342. 

2  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  297-1^)9.  8  Ibid.,  p.  298 
«  Ibid.,  p.  5G. 


INTUITION.  319 

are_o.L  like  .nature  with,  ouraelies, 


because  one  life  flows  through  them  and  through  us. 
In  true  knowing,  there  is  no  effort  on  our  part,  except 
to  open  the  way  for  the  truth  to  shine  in.  The  process 
of  knowing  we  can  not  explain  ;  all  philosophy  is  here 
at  fault.  That  wa  have  this  faculty^of  intuition  is  all  we. 
.kuouvuud  we  should  not  seek  to  explain  it.  Through 
it  God  speaks  all  tilings  to  us,  and  makes  it  impossible 
that  we  should  listen  to  any  other  voice.1 

Emerson  lays  the  greatest  possible  stress  on  this  the 
ory  of  spontaneity  and  intuition.  He  appears  some 
times  to  take  '  away  all  self-direction  and  all  need  of 
human  search  for  truth. 

"  God  enters,  he  says,  by  a  private  door  into  every  individual. 
Long  prior  to  the  age  of  reflection  is  the  thinking  of  the  mind. 
Out  of  darkness  it  came  insensibly  into  the  marvelous  light  of  to 
day.  In  the  period  of  infancy  it  accepted  and  disposed  of  all 
impressions  from  the  surrounding  creation  after  its  own  way. 
Whatever  any  mind  doth  or  saith  is  after  a  law  ;  and  this  native  law 
remains  over  it  after  it  has  come  to  reflection  or  conscious  thought. 
In  the  most  worn,  pedantic,  introverted  self-tormentor's  life,  the 
greatest  part  is  incalculable  by  him,  and  must  be,  until  he  can  take 
himself  up  by  his  own  ears.  What  am  I  ?  What  has  my  will  done 
to  make  me  what  I  am  ?  Nothing.  I  have  been  floated  into  this 
thought,  this  hour,  this  connection  of  events,  by  secret  currents  of 
might  and  mind;  and  my  ingenuity  and  wilfullness  have  not 
thwarted,  have  not  aided  to  an  appreciable  degree."2 

He  says  man  is  a  stream  whose  source  is  hidden,  for 
oar  being  is  descending  into  us  from  we  know  not 
whence.3  It  is  this  influx  of  being  from  above  which 
brings  us  truth.  The  perceiving  and  revealing  soul 
knows  the  truth  when  it  is  presented,  and  can  not  be 
deceived  by  any  fancies  of  the  individual  self.4  There 
must  be  faithfulness  to  the  truth,  however,  and  obedience 
to  its  commands.  "  We  must  not  tamper  with  the 
organic  motion  of  the  soul.  'Tis  certain  that  thought  has 
its  own  proper  motion  ;  and  the  hints  which  flash  from 
it,  the  words  overheard  at  unawares  by  the  free  mind, 
are  trustworthy  and  fertile  when  obeyed,  and  not  per- 

i  Ibid.,  p.  57.  2  Ibid.,  p.  297. 

s  Ibid.,  p.  244.  *  Ibid.,  p.  254. 


320  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

verted  to  low  and  selfish  account."  l  Again  he  says, 
"  The  one  condition  coupled  with  the  gift  of  truth  is 
its  use.  That  man  shall  be  learned  who  reduceth  his 
learning  to  practice."  2  The  condition  is,  "  Jf,we  live 
triil y^jgg  -glinlL^see_^truly." 3  Character  is  an  ex&ct 
expression  of  how  "much  truth  we  have.  "Exactly 
parallel  is  the  whole  rule  of  intellectual  duty  to  the 
rule  of  moral  duty ; " 4  and  the  intellect  sinks  as 
the  moral  nature  descends,  while  it  rises  with  it. 
"  The  infallible  index  of  true  progress  is  found  in  the 
tone  the  man  takes.  If  he  have  not  found  his  home  in 
God,  his  manners,  his  forms  of  speech,  the  turn  of  his 
enterices,  the  build,  shall  I  say,  of  all  his  opinions, 
ill  involuntarily  confess  it."  5  The  intuition  must  find 
Qoni^  i^  ^n  nntiim  I  it  can  not  be  held  as  a  private^ 
__  JHiGL  intuition  /"rises  in  thought,  to  tEe  end  thai 
Mt  mfhy  bfi  nttoml  n^T^cter!.,  _Tlm  more  profound  the 
thought,  the  more  burdensome.  Always  in  proportion 
the  depth  of  its  sense  does  it  knock  importurusly  at 
the  gates  of  the  soul,  to  be  spoken,  to  be  done_/l6  It 
is  by  this  most  rigid  law  of  action  and  character  Emer 
son  saves  himself  from  those  evil  results  which  the 
bold  insistance  on  the  method  of  intuition  have  worked 
in  some  minds.  It  is  dangerous  for  a  weak  mind  to 
believe  that  all  its  impulses  are  divine  revelations,  that 
every  seeming  intuition  is  to  be  followed,  that  we  are 
what  we  are  by  means  of  a  power  outside  of  ourselves 
entirely.  To  such  a  theory,  there  must  be  a  rigid  bal 
ance  and  checks.  These  Emerson  has  supplied  in  a . 

"  most  faithful  manner.  No  intuition  is  to  be  regarded 
that  does  not  conform  to  the  highest  moral  condu.^ 
flic  tendency  of  which  is  not  to  elevate  and  purify  the 
life.  To  none  but  the  pure  in  heart  ajQ  these  ip  tuition  a 

_    opened,  according  to  Emerson,  "for  so  to  be  is   the  sole 
inlet  of  so  to  know"  1 
_    Another  condition  of  intuition  is  silence  and  medi- 

1  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  p.  181.  2  Miscellanies,  p.  213. 

8  Essays,  first  series,  p.  59.  4  Ibid.,  p.  ,°>0:). 

6  Ibid.,  p.  260.  6  Society  and  Solitude,  p.  34 

7  Essays,  first  series,  p.  2!X). 


INTUITION.  321 

_tation.  In  this  Emerson  is  fully  in  accord  with  all  the 
mystics.  We  must  sit  alone,  if  we  would  receive  the 
Judith  ;  let  the  Over-soul  pour  into  us  its  flood.  He 
says  that  if  any  man  would  know  what  the  great  God 
speaketh,  he  must  go  into  his  closet  and  shut  the  door. 
"  He  must  greatly  listen  to  himself,  withdrawing  him 
self  from  all  the  accents  of  other  men's  devotion. 
Even  their  prayers  are  hurtful  to  him,  until  he  have 
made  his  own."  1  We  must  listen  only  to  that  Divine 
Voice  which  speaks  within  us,  and  to  do  that  we  must 
shut  out  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Hence,  the  epochs 
of  our  life  come  "  in  a  silent  thought  by  the  wayside 
as  we  walk  ;  "  2  for  in  that  silent  inward  communion  the 
way  of  life  for  us  is  revealed.  "  Silence,  he  says,  is  a 
solvent  that  destroys  personality,  and  gives  us  leave 
to  be  great  and  universal."  3  We  forget  the  individual 
cares  and  ambitions,  and  find  strength  and  peace  in  the 
truth. 

The  Spanish  mystic,  St.  Theresa,  says  we  ought  to 
sit  alone  and  wait  for  God  to  come  to  us,  in  no  wise 
dictating  the  method  of  his  coming.  Madame  Guyon 
regarded  her  own  silent  prayers  of  intuition  as  immeas 
urably  better  than  any  the  church  provided.  In  the 
same  spirit,  Eckhart  declared  that  "  he  who  is  at  all 
times  alone  is  worthy  of  God."  All  the  mystics  say 
that  God  speaks  within,  and  we  must  sit  alone,  that  we 
may  listen  to  his  voice,  and  that  he  may  have  free  oppor 
tunity  to  communicate  his  truth. 

We  test  our  intuitions  by  action,  character,  Jind 
silence  ;  and  we  arc  to  exclude  from  them  all  egotism. 
"  This  distemper  is  the  scourge  of  talent."  We  miist 
put  our  act  or  word  aloof  from  us,  and  "  see  it  bravely 
for  the  nothing  it  is."  Emerson  cautions  us  to  beware 
of  the  man  who  says  he  is  on  the  'eve  of  a  revelation. 
Such  presumption  "  is  speedily  punished,  inasmuch  as 
this  habit  invites.  men  to  humor  it,  and,  by  treating  the 
patient  tenderly,  to  shut  him  up  in  a  narrower  sel^sm, 
and  exclude  him  from  the  great  world  of  God's  cheer- 


Ibid.,  p.  267.  2  ibi^  p>  144.  3  ibid.,  p.  311. 


322  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

ful,  fallible  men  and  women."  l  The  egotism  of  knowl 
edge  is  not  only  dangerous,  but  it  excludes  us  from 
the  light.  The  ^trutli  comes  to  only  fliofip,  who  are 
ready  ^absolutely  to  obey  it,  who  propose  no  substitutes 
or  explanations.  "  The  icliul,  Lllti  Tiidlan,  the  child,  and 
unschooled  farmer's  boy,  stand  nearer  to  the  light  bj 
which  nature  is  to  be  read,  than  the  dissector  or  the 
antiquary."  2  The  man  of  science  interposes  his  own 
explanations,  his  own  conjectures ;  and,  having  offered 
them,  he  stands  by  them,  thinks  them  the  truth,  and 
forgets  nature  in  their  acceptance.  He  ought,  how- 
eve  t,  to  be  only  a  mouthpiece,  an  interpreter,  of  nature, 
having  no  desire  but  to  say  how  it  is  with  her.  So  it 
is  that  we  are  to  accept  the  voice  of  the  Over-soul. 
We  are  not  to  speculate  about  it,  not  to  interpret  it, 
onliiLto'iiear  and  obey.  The  simple  mind,  that  asks  no 
questions,  but  yields  to  its  command,  is  the  highest  and 
truest.  The  conditions  of  this  absolute  trust  Emerson 
has  stated  in  these  words  :  — 

"  I  conceive  a  man  as  always  spoken  to  from  behind,  and  unable 
to  turn  his  head  and  see  the  speaker.  In  all  the  millions  who  have 
heard  the  voice,  none  ever  saw  the  face.  As  children  in  their  play 
run  behind  each  other,  and  seize  one  by  the  ears  and  make  him 
walk  before  them,  so  is  the  spirit  our  unseen  pilot.  That  well- 
known  voice  speaks  in  all  languages,  governs  all  men ;  and  none 
ever  caught  a  glimpse  of  its  form.  If  the  man  will  exactly  obey 
it,  it  will  adopt  him,  so  that .  he  shall  not  any  longer  separate  it 
from  himself  in  his  thought;  he  shall  seem  to  be  it,  he  shall  be  it. 
If  he  listen  with  insaiiable  ears,  richer  and  greater  wisdom  is 
taught  him,  the  sound  swells  to  a  ravishing  music,  he  is  borne 
away  as  with  a  flood,  he  becomes  careless  of  his  food  and  of  his 
house,  he  is  the  fool  of  ideas,  and  leads  a  heavenly  life.  But  if 
his  eye  is  set  on  the  things  to  be  done,  and  not  on  the  truth  that 
is  still  taught,  and  for  the  sake  of  which  the  things  are  to  be  done, 
then  the  voice  grows  faint,  and  at  last  is  but  a  humming  in  his 
ears.  His  health  and  greatness  consist  in  his  being  the  channel 
through  which  heaven  flows  to  earth,  in  short,  in  the  fullness  in 
which  an  ecstatical  state  takes  place  in  him."3 

The  nature  of  this  power  he  has  also  described :  — 

"  We  distinguish  the  announcements  of  the  soul,  its  manifesta 
tions  of  its  own  nature,  by  the  term  revelation.  These  are  always 

1  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  115.  -  Essays,  first  series,  p.  36. 

3  Miscellanies,  p.  200. 


INTUITION.  323 

attended  by  the  emotion  of  the  sublime.  For  this  communication  is 
an  inllux  of  the  Divine  mind  into  our  mind.  It  is  an  ebb  of  the  in 
dividual  rivulet  before  the  flowing  surges  of  the  sea  of  life.  Every 
distinct  apprehension  of  this  central  commandment  agitates  men 
with  awe  and  delight.  A  thrill  passes  through  all  men  at  the  re 
ception  of  new  truth,  or  at  the  performance  of  a  great  action,  which 
comes  out  of  the  heart  of  nature.  In  these  communications,  the 
powe*  to  see  is  not  separated  from  the  will  to  do ;  but  the  insight 
proceeds  from  obedience,  and  the  obedience  proceeds  from  a  joyful 
perception.  Every  moment  when  the  individual  feels  himself  in 
vaded  by  it  is  memorable.  By  the  necessity  of  our  constitution,  a 
certain  enthusiasm  attends  the  individual's  consciousness  of  that 
divine  presence.  The  character  and  duration  of  this 'enthusiasm 
varies  with  the  state  of  the  individual,  from  an  ecstasy  and  trance 
and  prophetic  inspiration  —  which  is  its  rarer  appearance  —  to  the 
faintest  glow  of  virtuous  emotion,  in  which  form  it  warms,  like  our 
household  fires,  all  the  families  and  associations  of  men,  and  makes 
society  possible.  A  certain  tendency  to  insanity  has  always  attended 
the  opening  of  the  religious  sense  in  men,  as  if  they  had  been 
'  blasted  with  excess  of  light.'  The  trances  of  Socrates,  the  '  union ' 
of  PlotinUs,  the  vision  of  Porphyry,  the  conversion  of  Paul,  the 
aurora  of  Boehme,  the  convulsions  of  George  Fox  and  his  Quakers, 
the  illuminations  of  Swedenborg,  are  of  this  kind.  What  was  in 
the  case  of  these  remarkable  persons  a  ravishment,  has,  in  innu 
merable  instances  in  common  life,  been  exhibited  in  less  striking 
manner.  Everywhere  the  history  of  religion  betrays  a  tendency  to 
enthusiasm.  The  rapture  of  the  Moravian  and  Quietist ;  the  open 
ing  of  the  internal  sense  of  the  Word,  in  the  language  of  the  New- 
Jerusalem  church ;  the  revival  of  the  Calvinistic  churches ;  the 
experiences  of  the  Methodists,  —  are  varying  forms  of  that  shudder  of 
awe  and  delight  with  which  the  individual  soul  always  mingles  with 
the  universal  soul.  The  nature  of  these  revelations  is  the  same ; 
they  are  perceptions  of  the  absolute  law.  They  are  solutions  of  the 
soul's  own  questions.  They  do  not  answer  the  questions  wrhich 
the  understanding  asks.  The  soul  answers  never  by  words,  but  by 
the  thing  itself  that  is  inquired  after."  l 

Emerson  believes  in  the  Inner  Light  of  the  Quaker, 
the  Ecstasy  of  Plotinus,  the  Divine  Illumination  of  Swe 
denborg.  Trutk-iajiot  the  result  of  thoughy^  is  not 
to.  be  attained  to  by  reasoning,  least  of  all  is  it  a  product 
of  the  senses  and  understanding ;  it  is  a  divine  light,  an 
inward  illumination.  He  frequently  calls  this  instinct, 
or  intuition,  The  Moral  SentimentX  Through  it  comes 
every  law  of  conduct:  and  if  gives  us  those  moral  com 
mandments  which  are  eternal,  because  out  of  the  very 

1  Essays,  first  series,  p.  255. 


324  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

core  of  Being.  This  power  "  puts  us  at  the  heart  of 
Nature,  where  we  belong,  in  the  cabinet  of  science  and 
of  causes,  —  there  where  all  the  wires  terminate  which 
hold  the  world  in  magnetic  unity,  —  and  so  converts  us 
into  universal  beings."  1 

"  This  wonderful  sentiment,  which  endears  itself  as  it  is  obeyed, 
seems  to  be  the  fountain  of  intellect ;  for  no  talent  gives  the  im 
pression  of  sanity,  if  wanting  this ;  nay,  it  absorbs  every  thing  into 
itself.  Truth,  Power,  Goodness,  Beauty,  are  its  varied  names,  - — 
faces  of  one  substance.  Before  it,  what  are  persons,  prophets,  or 
seraphim,  but  its  passing  agents,  momentary  rays  of  its  light? 

"  The  moral  sentiment  is  alone  important.  There  is  no  labor  or 
sacrifice  to  which  it  will  not  bring  a  man,  arid  which  it  will  not 
make  easy.  Under  the  action  of  this  sentiment  of  the  Right,  his 
heart  and  mind  expand  above  himself,  and  above  Nature. 

"Devout  men,  in  the  endeavor  to  express  their  convictions, 
have  used  different  images  to  suggest  this  latent  force  ;  as,  the 
light,  the  seed,  the  Spirit,  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Comforter,  the 
Daemon,  the  still  small  voice,  etc.,  —  all  indicating  its  power  and  its 
latency.  It  refuses  to  appear,  it  is  too  small  to  be  seen,  too  obscure 
to  be  spoken  of;  but,  such  as  it  is,  it  creates  a  faith  which  the  con 
tradiction  of  all  mankind  can  not  shake,  and  which  the  consent  of 
all  mankind  can  not  confirm." 

"  We  affirm  that  in  all  men  is  this  majestic  perception  and  com- 
•  mand ;  that  it  is  the  presence  of  the  Eternal  in  each  perishing  man  ; 
that  it  distances  and  degrades  all  statements  of  whatever  saints, 
heroes,  poets,  as  obscure  and  confused  stammerings  before  its  silent 
revelation.  They  report  the  truth.  It  is  the  truth.  When  I  think 
of  Keason,  of  Truth,  of  Virtue,  I  caii  not  conceive  of  them  as  lodged 
in  your  soul  and  lodged  in  my  soul,  but  that  you  and  I  and  all  souls 
are  lodged  in  that ;  and  I  may  easily  speak  of  that  adorable  nature, 
there  where  only  I  behold  it,  in  my  dim  experiences,  in  such 
terms  as  shall  seem  to  the  frivolous,  who  dare  not  fathom  tlieir 
consciousness,  as  profane." 

"  We  pretend  not  to  define  the  way  of  its  access  to  the  private 
heart.  It  passes  understanding.  The  soul  of  God  is  poured  into 
the  world  through  the  thoughts  of  men.  When  the  Master  of  the 
Universe  has  ends  to  fulfill,  he  impresses  his  will  on  the  structure  of 
minds."  2 

He  insists  again  and  again  that  is  impossible  to  know: 

^the  character  of  this  intuitive  jpower,  or  the  manner  of 

its  incoming  to  the  mind.     With  Plotinus,  he  callsjitan 

ecstasy.^  Hg  gflprfissea  hia_.beHf>f  ".that  nothing "~gival 

and  lasting  can  be  done  except  by  inspiration,^ which 

P,"P.  JW.  ""  2  Ibid.,  pp.  358-360. 


INTUITION. 


finds  expression  in  enthusiasm.    J'-rfttinfiy  is  a  normal 

<*i»puitiQiir»g    nf    nil    wlin  ]iyfi   fttf  \tr\~*  *         "  Poets  have  siglial- 

ized  their  consciousness  of  rare  moments,  when  they 
were  superior  to  themselves,  —  when  a  light,  a  freedom, 
a  power,  came  to  them,  which  lifted  them  to  performances 
far  better  than  they  could  reach  at  other  times."  l  All 
.^rciit  achievements  of  whatever  kind  are  accomplished 
by  enthusiasm  and  abandonment.2  Life  itself  is  an 
ecstasy,3  and,  when  true  to  its  highest  law,  is  only  anT 
abandonment  to  the  will  of  God.  Even  in  nature  there 
"  is  110  private  will,  no  rebel  leaf  or  limb';  but  the  whole 
is  oppressed  by  one  superincumbent  tendency,  obeys 
that  redundancy,  or  excess,  of  life,  which,  in  conscious 
beings,  we  call  ecstasy.""  4  XJ.n 

revelation    in  I"fl-n 


reve  _  _ 

of  recuiviiig  the  Over-soul  into  our  own  natures  in  a 
new  access  of  truth,  is  '-always  a  miraclef//which  no 
frequency  of  oecurreuce  or  incessant  study  can  ever 
familiarize,  but  which  must  always  leave  the  inquirer 
stupid  with  wonder."  5  «* 

"  The  path  is  difficult,  secret,  and  beset  with  terror.  The  an 
cients  called  it  ecstasy  or  absence,  —  a  getting  out  of  their  bodies 
to  think.  All  religious  history  contains  traces  of  the  trance  of 
saints,  —  a  beatitude,  but  without  any  sign  of  joy,  earnest,  solitary, 
even  sad  ;  '  the  flight,'  Plotinus  called  it,  '  of  the  alone  to  the  alone  ;  ' 
Mv£mf,"  the  closing  of  the  eyes,  —  whence  our  word,  Mystic.  The 
trances  of  Socrates,  Plotinus,  Porphyry,  Boehme,  Bunyan,  Fox, 
Pascal,  Guyon,  Swedenborg,  will  readily  come  to  mind.  This 
beatitude  conies  in  terror,  and  with  shocks  to  the  mind  of  the 
receiver."  6 

Some  minds  are  more  capable  of  intuition  than  others, 
and  become  the  revealers  of  new  truths.  "Rare,  ex 
travagant  spirits  come  to  us  at  intervals,  who  disclose 
to  us  jiew  facts  in  nature.  Men  of  God  have,  from 
tirrjft  tn  tirne,  walked  among  men,  and  mrulfl  thpir  rM-nfi- 
misao&Jfilt-Ju^be^oort  and  ooul  of  the  commonest 
hearer."  7  "  In  all  ages,  souls  out  of  time,  extraordi- 


Social  Aims,  pp.  243-348. 

2  Essays,  first  series,  p.  292.  3  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  35. 

4  Miscellanies,  p.  195.  5  Essays,  first  series,  p.  304. 

6  Representative  Men,  p.  99.  "  Essays,  first  series,  p.  25. 


326  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSOX. 

nary,  prophetic,  are  born,  who  are  rather  related  to  the 
systgm-  of  the  moLkLthan  to  their  particular  agean  d 
locality.  These  arm  ounce  absolute  truths."1  TTIese 
great  men  become  theleaders  and  the  centers  of  the 
world's  advancement.  u  An  institution  is  the  length 
ened  shadow  of  one  man,"  and  "  all  history  resolves  itself 
very_£asily  into^the  hingrapky  of  a  few  stout  jvnd^ear- 
nest  persons."  2^  Mankind  have,  he  says,  in  all  ages, 
attached  themselves  to  a  few  persons,  who,  either  by 
the  quality  of  that  idea  they  embodied,  or  by  the  large 
ness  of  their  reception,  were  entitled  to  the  position  of 
leaders  and  law-givers.  These  teach  us  the  qualities 
of  primary  nature,  — admit  us  to  the  constitution  of 
things."3  Again  he  says,  "  A  man,  a  personal  ascend 
ency,  is  the  only  great  phenomenon.  When  nature  has 
work  to  be  done,  she  creates  a  genius  to  do  it.  Follow 
the  great  man,  and  you  shall  see  what  the  world  has  at 
heart  in  these  ages.  There  is  no  omen  like  that."4  In 
the  general  introduction  he  wrote  to  an  English  book 
on  The  Hundred  Greatest  Men,  published  in  1879,  he 
very  characteristically  sets  forth  his  theory  of  the  great 
man.  It  is  the  theory  of  all  the  great  Germans  of  the 
eighteenth  century  he  defends  therein.  Hamann  be 
lieved  in  absolute  individual  liberty ;  Lavater  pro 
claimed  the  autocratic  power  of  genius ;  while  Lessing, 
Herder,  Fichte,  Goethe,  and  all  the  others,  preached  this 
doctrine  of  the  power  of  the  great  man.  Cousin  made 
it  the  central  thought  in  his  interpretation  of  history, 
and  Curly le  gave  to  it  his  entire  approval.  The  whole 
of  that  introduction  is  in  these  words :  — ; 

"  The  Spanish  historians  tell  us  that  it  was  not  any  of  the  wild 
and  unknown  animals,  or  fruit,  or  even  the  silver  and  gold  of  the 
new  world,  but  the  wild  man,  that  concentrated  the  curiosity  of 
the  contemporaries  of  Columbus.  And  we  all  of  us  remember  in 
the  charming  account  of  the  prince  of  the  Pelew  Islands,  brought 
in  the  last  century  into  England,  that  what  most  of  all  the  splen 
did  shows  of  London  fastened  his  eye  with  mystery  of  joy,  was  the 
mirror  in  which  he  saw  himself.  In  like  manner  it  is  not  the  mon 
ster,  it  is  not  the  remote  and  unknown,  which  can  ever  powerfully 

i  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  178.  2  Essays,  first' series,  pp.  53,  54. 

8  Representative  Men,  p.  25.         4  Miscellanies,  p.  198. 


INTUITION.  327 

work  on  the  human  mind ;  the  way  to  touch  all  the  springs  of  won 
der  in  us  is  to  get  before  our  eyes  as  thought,  that  which  we  are 
feeling  and  doing.  The  things  that  we  do  we  think  not.  What  I 
am.  I  can  not  describe  any  more  than  I  can  see  my  eyes.  The 
moment  another  describes  to  me  that  man  I  am,  pictures  to  me  in 
words  that  which  I  was  feeling  and  doing,  I  am  struck  with  sur 
prise.  I  am  sensible  of  a  keen  delight.  I  be,  and  I  see  my  being, 
at  the  same  time.  The  soul  glances  from  itself  to  the  picture  with 
lively  pleasure.  Behold  what  was  in  me,  out  of  me  1  Behold  the  ' 
subjective  now  objective !  Behold  the  spirit  embodied ! 

"  What  does  every  earnest  man  seek  in  the  deep  instinct  of  soci 
ety,  f roni  his  first  fellowship  —  a  child  with  children  at  play  -  -  up 
to  the  heroic  cravings  of  friendship  and  love,  —  what  but  to  find 
himself  in  another  mind ;  because  such  is  the  law  of  his  being  that 
only  can  he  find  out  his  own  secret  through  the  instrumentality  of 
another  mind.  We  hail  with  gladness  this  new  acquisition  of  our 
selves.  That  man  I  must  follow,  for  he  has  a  part  of  me ;  and  1 
follow  him  that  I  may  acquire  myself. 

"  The  great  are  our  better  selves,  ourselves  with  advantages.     It  7 
is  the  only  platform  on  which  all  men  can  meet.     If  you  deal  with  ( 
a  vulgar  mind,  life  is  reduced  to  beggary.     He  makes  me  rich,  him 
I  call  Plutus,  who  shows  mo  that  every  man  is  mine,  and  every  fac 
ulty  is  mine  ;  who  does  not  impoverish  me  in  praising  Plato,  but 
contrariwise  is  adding  assets  to  my  inventory. 

"  An  etherlal  sea  ebbs  and  flows,  surges  and  washes  hither  and 
thither,  carrying  its  whole  virtue  into  every  creek  and  inlet  which 
it  bathes.  To  this  sea  every  human  house  has  a  water-front. 
Every  truth  is  a-  power.  Every  idea  from  the  moment  of  its 
emergence  begins  to  gather  material  forces,  after  a  little  while 
makes  itself  known.  It  works  first  on  thoughts,  then  on  things ; 
makes  feet,  and  afterwards  shoes ;  first  hands,  then  gloves ;  makes 
men,  and  so  the  age  and  its  material  soon  after.  The  history  of 
the  world  is  nothing  but  a  procession  of  clothed  ideas.  As  cer 
tainly  as  water  falls  in  rain  on  the  tops  of  mountains,  and  runs 
down  into  valleys,  plains,  and  pits,  so  does  thought  fall  first  in  the 
best  minds,  and  runs  down  from  class  to  class,  until  it  reaches  the 
masses,  and  works  revolutions. 

"  The  Universal  Man  is  now  coining  to  be  a  real  being  in  the 
individual  mind,  as  once  the  Devil  was.  All  questions  touching 
human  life  the  daily  press  now  discusses.  I  will  not  say  that 
there  is  no  darker  side  to  the  picture,  or  that  what  is  gained  in 
universality  is  not  lost  in  enthusiasm.  We  have  in  the  race  the 
sketch  of  a  man  which  no  individual  comes  up  to.  I  figure  to 
myself  the  world  as  a  hollow  temple,  and  each  several  mind  as  an  I 
exponent  of  some  sacred  part  therein ;  each  a  jet  of  flame  affixed  \ 
to  some  capital  or  triglyph  or  rosette,  bringing  out  its  significance J 
to  the  eye-by  its  shining. 

"  We  delight  in  heroes,  but  we  can  hardly  call  them  a  class ;  for?" 
the  essence  of  heroism  is  that  it  takes  the  man  out  of  all  class 


RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

We  call  them  providential  men.  They  draw  multitudes  and  na 
tions  after  them,  as  the  nation  shares  /he  idea  that  inspires  them. 
[  know  _  the  pure  examples  are  few;  tofew  benefactors  scattered 
along  history  to  make  the  earth  sweet\  For  the  most  part,  the 
mud  of  temperament  clouds  the  purit^and  we  see  this  sheathed 
omnipotence  in  characters  we  can  not  otherwise  respect.  They 
show  their  legitimate  prerogative  in  nothing  more  than  their  power 
to  misguide  us.  For  the  perverted  great  derange  and  deject  us, 
and  perplex  ages  with  their  fame. 

"  The  great  men  of  the  past  did  not  slide  by  any  fortune  into 
their  high,  place.  They  have  been  selected  by  the  severest  of  all 
judges,  j  ime.  As  the  snow  melts  in  April,  so  has  this  mountain 
lost  in  every  generation  a  new  fragment.  Every  year  new  parti 
cles  have  dropped  into  the  flood  as  the  mind  found  them  wanting 
in  permanent  interest,  until  only  the  Titans  remain. 

"  Nothing  good,  nothing  grand  has  been  withheld.  The  ages  of 
Time,  the  resources  of  Being,  play  into  our  tutelage.  Here  the 
world  yields  to  us  its  soul.  To  our  insight  old  sages  live  again. 
The  old  revolutions  find  correspondence  in  the  experiences  of  the 
mind.  Wonderful  spiritual  natures,  like  princedoms  and  poten 
tates,,  stand  bending  around  us.  Each  one  of  the  century  repre 
sents  a  department  of  life  and  thought." 

Emerson  is  not  a  hero-worshiper,  —  does  not  make 
the  great  man  so  important  as  do  Carlyle,  Cousin,  .and 
Herder. /^With  him  the  great  man  is  one  who  is  able  to 
express  Xfcare  clearly  some  idea  which  others  also  accept. 
He  says  every  great  man  is  a  unique,  it  is  true,  but  also 
tr^at. every  soul  is  individual  and  unrepresented.  The 
genius  of  any  kind  is  but  a  mouth-piece  of  the  soul,  and 
the  soul  is  open  to  all.  If  he  has  some  fortunate  power, 
h,e  has  weaknesses  to  balance  it;  and  in  his  total  power 
he  is  no  greater  than  others.  Great  men  are  to  be 
accepted,  only  as  showing  us  what  we  can  become,  only 
because  we  see  in  them  what  is  in  us.  "  There  is  any 
thing  but  humiliation  in  the  homage  men  pay  to  a  great 
man;  it  is  sympathy,  love  of  the  same  things,  effort 
to  'each  them, — the  expression  of  their  hope  of  what 
they  tvhall  become  when  the  obstructions  of  their  mal 
formation  and  mal-education  shall  be  trained  away. 
Great  men  shall  not  impoverish,  but  enrich,  us.  Great 
men,— the  age  goes  on  their  credit;  but  all  the  rest, 
when  their  wires  are  continued,  and  not  cut,  can  do  as 
signal  things,  and  in  new  parts  of  nature."  l  If  we  trust 

1  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  p.  202. 


INTUITION.  329 

the  great  man  too  much,  it  will  be  to  our  hurt.  He  must 
never  take  the  place  of  that  Over-soul,  which  is  the 
guide,  and  should  be  the  only  final  trust,  of  us  all. 
"  The  man  has  never  lived,  Emerson  says,  that  can  feed 
us  ever."  l  We  must  not  attach  ourselves  too  closely 
to  any  great  man,  lest  his  defects  cause  us  to  lose  faith 
in  the  truth.  No  man  must  usurp  the  place  of  the 
soul,  or  stand  to  us  instead  of  the  descending  of  God's 
truth  into  us  from  above. 

"  Our  exaggeration  of  all  fine  characters  arises  from  the  fact  that 
we  identify  each  in  turn  with  the  soul.  But  there  are  no  such  men 
as  we  fable ;  no  Jesus,  nor  Pericles,  nor  Caesar,  nor  Angelo,  nor 
Washington,  such  as  we  have  made.  We  consecrate  a  great  deal 
of  nonsense,  because  it  was  allowed  by  great  men.  There  is  none 
without  his  foible,  (l  verily  believe  if  an  angel  should  come  to 
chant  the  chorus  of  me  moral  law,  he  would  eat  too  much  ginger 
bread,  or  take  liberties  with  private  letters,  or  do  some  precious 
atrocity.}  It  is  bad  enough  that  our  geniuses  can  not  do  any  thing 
usef ul,/mit  it  is  worse  that  no  man  is  fit  for  society  who  has  fine 
traits.  He  is  admired  at  a  distance,  but  he  can  not  come  near  with 
out  appearing  a  cripple.  .  .  .  The  magnetism  which  arranges  tribes" 
and  races  in  one  polarity  is  alone  to  be  respected ;  the  men  are  steel- 
filings.  Yet  we  unjustly  select  a  particle,  and  say,  O  steel-filing 
number  one  !  what  heart-drawings  I  feel  to  thee  !  what  prodigious 
virtues  are  these  of  thine !  how  constitutional  to  thee,  and  incom 
municable  !  Whilst  we  speak,  the  loadstone  is  withdrawn,  down 
falls  our  filing  in  a  heap  with  the  rest ;  and  we  continue  our  mum 
mery  to  the  wretched  shaving.  Let  us  go  for  universals ;  for  the 
magnetism,  not  for  the  needles.  Human  life  and  its  persons  are 
poor  empirical  pretensions.  A  personal  influence  is  an  ignis  fatuus."  2 

It  is  the  magnetism  of  the  Spirit  which  Emerson 
always  preaches.  A  few  of  the  steel-filings  are  more 
completely  draws,  for  the  time  being,  into  its  influence 
than  others ;  and  their  attracting  power  is  greater,  only 
for  this  reason.  "  He  who  is  immersed  in  what  concerns 
person  or  place,  can  not  see  the  problem  of  existence."  3 
So  he'says,  that,  however  great  and  welcome  may  be  the 
claims  and  virtues  of  persons,  "the  instinct  of  man 
presses  eagerly  onward  to  the  impersonal  and  illimita 
ble."4  Again,  he  says,  "No  historical  person  begins  to 

i  Miscellanies,  p.  103.  2  Essays,  second  series,  pp.  219,  220. 

8  Essays,  first  series,  p.  296.         4  Ibid.,  p.  284. 


'330  KALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

content  us,"  and  because  "  there  is  no  such  critic  and 
beggar  as  this  terrible  Soul."  l  He  believes  in  the  vast 
and  illimitable  Soul,  and  all  that  persons  can  do  is  to 
give  us  some  hint  of  its  operations.  To  it  we  mu.  , 
in  it  we  must  put  our  trust;  ij£ik.rn  persons,  however 
great.  "  Before  the  revelations  of  the  Soul,  time,  space, 
and  nature  shrink  away.  The  soul  looketh  steadily  for 
wards,  creating  a  world  before  her,  leaving  worlds  behind 
her.  She  has  no  dates  nor  rites  nor  persons  nor  special 
ties  nor  men.  TJ^^id  JsiiGiKSjajil^  the  web 
of  events  is  the  flowing  robe  in  which  she  is  clothed."  2 
The  great  man  is  great,  only  wherein  he  has  been  obedi 
ent  to  the  voice  of  the  Spirit.  All  men  ought  and  may 
foe  thus  obedient.  Emerson,  consequently,  dwells  most 

pmplmtinn.lly    rm    f.ho.    upprl    nf    Smi)4yi]jgf ;    of    accepting 

that  teaching  which  the  Universal  Mind  gives  to  every 
person.  "  A  man  should  learn  to  detect  and  watch  that 
gleam  of  light  which  flashes  across  his  mind  within,  more 
than  the  luster  of  the  firmament  of  bards  and  sages."3 
He  is  to  trust  that  power  within,  because  it  is  the  Uni 
versal  Mind  speaking  through  him,  and  because  he 
represents  somewhat  of  its  nature  no  other  person  can 
express.  Each  person  is  to  trust  himself,  because  "  the 
power  which  resides  in  him  is  new  in  nature ;  and  none 
but  he  knows  what  that  is  which  he  can  do,  nor  does 
he  know  until  he  has  tried."  4 

's  doctrine  of  self-trust  is  really  that  of  Soul- 
lepends  on  his  doctrine  of  self-renunciation, 
all  individual  desires  and  purposes,  that  the 
Spirit  may  speak  through  us.  It  depends  on  man's  being 
an  inlet  of  the  Over-soul,  on  his  doctrine  of  immediate 
intuition  and  revelation.  We  are  not  to  trust  the  indi 
vidual  self,  but  that  Self  which  unites  man  in  immediate 
co^iii,tion  with  (Jod.  u  Nothing  is  at  last  sacred  but  the 
integrity  of  your  own  mind,"  5  because  the  mind  is  .the 
descending  Spirit.  "  No  law  can  be  sacred  to  me  but 
that  of  my  nature,"  6  because  it  is  the  law  of  the  Over- 

*  Society  and  Solitude,  p.  274.  2  Essays,  first  series,  p.  24(J. 

3  Ibid.,  p.  :«).  4  Ibid.,  p.  40. 

»  Ibid.,  p.  44.  «  Ibid. 


he  know  un 
/       Emerson'* 

1     trust.     It.d( 
rejection  of 


INTUITIOX.  331 

soul.  "  The  magnetism  which  all  original  action  exerts 
is  explained  when  we  inquire  the  reason  of  self-trust. 
Who  is  the  Trustee  ?  What  is  the  aboriginal  Self  on 
which  a  universal  reliance  may  be  grounded?  The 
inquiry  leads  us  to  that  source,  at  once  the  essence  of 
genius,  of  virtue,  and  of  life,  which  we  call  Spontaneity, 
or  Instinct."  l  Whoever  so  lives  that  this  power  works 
freely  in  him  will  find  that  "  it  is  not  by  any  known  or 
accustomed  way ;  he  shall  not  discern  the  footprints 
of  any  other ;  he  shall  not  see  the  face  of  man ;  he  shall 
not  hear  any  name ;  the  way,  the  thought,  the  good, 
shall  be  wholly  strange  and  new.  It  shall  exclude  ex 
ample  and  experience.  All  persons  that  ever  existed 
are  its  forgotten  ministers."  2  Emerson  asks  why  it  is 
that  we  prate  of  self-reliance  ;  and  says  it  is  not  because 
the  individual  is  a  confident  power  in  himself,  but  be 
cause  he  is  the  agent  of  that  Soul  which  speaks  through 
him.  God  will  deign  to  enter  and  inhabit,  only  the  man 
who  puts  off  all  foreign  support,  and  stands  alone.3 
This  is  the  doctrine  of  self-renunciation  in  another  form. 
We  surrender  ourselves  absolutely  to  the  will  of  God, 
obey  his  laws,  hearken  only  to  his  voice,  and  then  w» 
become  strong  with  his  strength  and  wise  with  his  truth". 
That  .this  is  what  lie  means  by  ^eli'-tunst,  Emerson  has 
himself  distinctly  stated.  "  It  is,  he  says,  our  practical 
perception  of  the  Deity  in  man.  It  has  its  deep  foun 
dations  in  religion.  If  you  have  ever  known  a  good  mind 
among  the  Quakers,  you  will  have  found  that  is  the  ele 
ment  of  their  faith."  He  says  that  books  or  men  can  not 
"  compare  with  the  greatness  of  that  counsel  which  is 
open  to  you  in  happy  solitude.  I  mean  that  there  is  for 
you  the  following  of  an  inward  leader,  —  a  slow  dis 
crimination  that  there  is  for  each  a  Best  Counsel,  which 
enjoins  the  fit  word  and  the  fit  act  for  every  moment.'  4 
Emerson  agrees  with  the  Quakers,  and  all  other  mystics 
who  believe  in  an  Inward  Light,  or  guidance.  In  his 
doctrine  ^pf  self-reliance,  however,  he  comes  nearer  to 
Swedenborg's  idea  of  self-hood  ;  and  he  approaches  also 

i  Ibid.,  p.  55.  2  Ibid  ,  p.  GO. 

8  Ibid.,  p.  78.  4  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  pp.  276,  277. 


332  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

very  closely  to  Hegel's  conception  of  personality.  We 
reject  the  individual  self,  accept  the  guidance  and  influx 
of  the  Over-soul,  and  therein  we  find  a  higher  and  truer 
self.  In  rejecting  the  individual  for  the  universal,  as 
Emerson  so  constantly  urges  us  to  do,  we  are  not  to 
overlook  that  personality  which  separates  us  from  all 
other  souls. 

"Every  mind  has  a  new  compass,  a  new  north,  a  new  direc 
tion  of  its  own,  differencing  its  genius  and  aim  from  every  other 
mind,  —  as  every  man,  with  whatever  family  resemblances,  has  a 
new  countenance,  new  manner,  new  voice,  new  thoughts,  and  new 
character.  Whilst  he  shares  with  all  mankind  the  gift  of  reason 
and  the  moral  sentiment,  there  is  a  teaching  for  him  from  within, 
which  is  leading  him  in  a  new  path,  and,  the  more  it  is  trusted, 
separates  and  signalizes  him,  while  it  makes  him  more  important  and 
necessary  to  society.  We  call  this  specialty  the  bias  of  each  indi 
vidual.  And  none  of  us  will  ever  accomplish  any  thing  excellent 
or  commanding  except  when  he  listens  to  this  whisper,  which  is 
heard  by  him  alone.  Swedenborg  called  it  the  proprium,  —  not  a 
thought  shared  with  others,  but  constitutional  to  the  man.  A 
point  of  education  that  I  can  never  too  much  insist  upon  is  this 
tenet,  that  every  individual  man  has  a  bias  which  he  must  obey, 
and  that  it  is  only  as  he  feels  and  obeys  this  that  he  rightly  de 
velops  and  attains  his  legitimate  power  in  the  world.  It  is  his 
magnetic  needle,  which  points  always  in  one  direction  to  his  proper 
path,  with  more  or  less  variation  from  any  other  man's.  He  is 
never  happy  nor  strong  until  he  finds  it,  keeps  it ;  learns  to  be  at 
home  with  himself ;  learns  to  watch  the  delicate  hints  and  insights 
that  come  to  him,  and  to  have  the  entire  assurance  of  his  own 
mind.  And  in  this  self-respect,  or  hearkening  to  the  privatest 
oracle,  he  need  never  be  at  a  loss.  In  morals,  this  is  conscience ; 
in  intellect,  genius ;  in  practice,  talent ;  not  to  imitate  or  surpass  a 
particular  man  in  his  way,  but  to  bring  out  your  own  new  way ;  to 
each  his  own  method,  style,  wit,  eloquence."  1 

1  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  p.  274.. 


FATE   AND   FREEDOM.  333 


XXIV. 

FATE   AND   FREEDOM. 

"TT^THICS  have  their  foundation  in  intuition,  according 
-L^  to  Emerson.  With  Kant,  he  does  not  distinguish 
between  morality  and  religion,  but  makes  them  one 
and  the  same,  the  product  of  man's  natural,  universal 
inspiration.  He  describes  the  moral  sentiment  in  the 
very  same  words  with  which  he  describes  the  workings  of 
religious  intuition.  Morality  results  from  the  direct 
presence  of  God  in  all  things,  from  his  delegating 
divine  power  to  every  atom  and  man.  It  is  everywhere 
the  same  life  that  is  manifest,  the  life  of  the  great 
Indwelling  God  ;  so  that  it  is  the  same  fact  existing  in 
man  and  atom.  "  There  is  no  difference  of  quality,  but 
only  of  more  or  less."  The  immanent  presence  of  God 
gives  to  all  things  the  law  of  his  nature,  the  direction 
of  his  thought.  This  obedience  of  all  things  to  the 
attractions  of  the  Indwelling  God  is  law  in  nature, 
morality  in  man.  This  fatal  necessity  of  obedience  to 
the  law  of  God  is  the  basis  of  thought,  but  there  it  is 
made  alive  with  moral  power.  "  In  us  it  is  inspiration  ; 
out  there  in  Nature  we  see  its  fatal  strength.  We  call  it 
the  moral  sentiment."  l  To  the  objector,  he  emphasizes 
this  necessity  of  law  and  obedience  :  — 

"  Let  me  show  him  that  the  dice  are  loaded  ;  that  the  colors  are 
fast,  because  they  are  the  native  colors  of  the  fleece  ;  that  the  globe 
is  a  battery,  because  every  atom  is  a  magnet  ;  and  that  the  police 
and  sincerity  of  the  universe  are  secured  by  God's  delegating  his 
dnr.nity  to  every  particle  ;  that  there  is  no  room  for  hypocrisy,  no 
margin  for  choice."  2 


Eniersoft  i8,,,*^  a  fatalist,  ^though  he  uses  the  word 
fate  so  oiten.     ITe  uses  the  wonls  law,  necessity,  fate,  in 

1  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  192.  2  n^.,  p.  193. 


334  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

a  sense  quite  other  than  that  usually  given  them.  He 
means  by  them  the  invincible  order  and  unity  of  th"e 
world  of  ^pirit,  that  its  methods  are  perfect  and  invari 
able  ;  that  justice  can  never  be  violated  ;  that  the  truth 
is  always  the  same,  and  always  faithful  to  itself.  The 
moral  sentiment  speaks  to  us  the  law  of  God,  which 
never  changes,  which  can  not  be  broken.  So  he  says,  — 

"  The  lessons  of  the  moral  sentiment  are,  once  for  all,  an 
emancipation  from  that  anxiety  which  takes  the  joy  out  of  all  life. 
It  teaches  a  great  peace.  It  comes  itself  from  the  highest  place. 
It  is  that,  which,  being  in  all  sound  natures,  and  strongest  in  the 
best  and  most  gifted  men,  we  know  to  be  implanted  by  the  Creator 
of  men.  It  is  a  commandment  at  every  moment,  and  in  every 
condition  in  life,  to  do  the  duty  of  that  moment,  and  to  abstain 
from  doing  the  wrong.  And  it  is  so  near  and  inward  and  constitu 
tional  to  each,  that  no  commandment  can  compare  with  it  in 
authority.  All  wise  men  regard  it  as  the  voice  of  the  Creator 
himself."  1 

It  is  thus  he  regards  the  moral  sentiment,  as  the 
direct  voice  of  God  to  the^sou!  of  man,  through,  intui 
tion.  His  doctrine  of  necessity  and  fate  is  in  entire 
agreement  with  it.  He  recognizes  man's  relations  to 
nature  and  the  force  of  the  environment,  he  gives  full 
credit  to  circumstances,  the  laws  of  heredity  he  fully 
recognizes.  In  his  essay  on  Fate,  as  well  as  elsewhere, 
he  has  written  of  their  influence.  All  conditions  within 
wliich  the  &e£L spirit  acts7  he  knows  under  the  one  word, 
fate.  By  it  lie  means  the  limiting,  circumscribing  con- 
drtftmsof  material  existence,  the  limits  which  nature  sets 
for  the  action  of  the  soul.  In  the  following  paragraphs 
^his  meaning  may  be  fully  seen  :  — 

"  An  expense  of  ends  to  means  is  fate,  —  organization  tyranniz 
ing  over  character.  The  menagerie,  or  forms  and  powers  of  the 
spine,  is  a  book  of  fate  ;  the  bill  of  the  bird,  the  skull  of  the  snake, 
determines  tyrannically  its  limits.  So  is  the  scale  of  races,  of  tern- 
penvments;  so  is  sex;  so  is  climate;  so  is  the  re-action  of  talents. 
imprisoning  the  vital  power  in  certain  directions.  Every  spirit 
makes  its  house,  but  afterwards  the  house  confines  the  spirit." 

"  Nature  is,  what  you  may  do.  There  is  much  you  may  not. 
We  have  two  things,  —  the  circumstance  and  the  life.  Once  we 

1  The  Preacher,  p.  8. 


FATE   AND   FEEEDOM.  335 

thought  positive  power  was  all.  Now  we  learn  that  negative 
power,  or  circumstance,  is  half.  Nature  is  the  tyrannous  circum 
stance  ;  the  thick  skull ;  the  sheathed  snake ;  the  ponderous,  rock- 
like  jaw ;  necessitated  activity ;  violent  direction  ;  the  conditions 
of  a  tool,  like  the  locomotive,  strong  enough  on  its  track,  but  which 
can  da  nothing  but  mischief  off  of  it ;  or  skates,  which  are  wings  on 
the  ice,  but  fetters  on  the  ground.  The  book  of  Nature  is  the  book 
jt  Fa/-.-." 

"  A  man's  power  is  hooped  in  by  necessity,  which,  by  many  ex- 
perimeinr-  h°  touches  on  every  side,  until  he  learns  its  arc.  The 
limitations  renne  as  the  soul  purifies,  but  the  ring  of  necessity  is 
always  perched  at  the  top.  If  we  give  it  the  high  sense  in  which 
ihe  poets  use  it,  even  thought  itself  is  not  above  Fate  ;  that,  too, 
must  act  according  to  eternal  laws  ;  and  all  that  is  willful  and  fan 
tastic  in  it  is  in  opposition  to  its  fundamental  essence.  Last  of  all, 
high  over  thought,  in  the  world  of  morals,  Fate  appears  as  vindi 
cator,  leveling  the  high,  lifting  the  low,  requiring  justice  in  man, 
and  always  striking  soon  or  late,  Avhen  justice  is  not  done. 
What  is  useful  will  last ;  what  is  hurtful  will  sink." l 

In  morals  and  religion  fate  becomes  the  polar  opposite 
of  spontaneity  and  the  laws  or  conditions  of  intuition. 
So  frequent  is  Emerson's  use  of  the  word  fate,  many 
of  his  readers  are  led  astray  by  it,  and  forget  that  his 
primary  idea  is  that  of  spontaneity,  or  intuition ;  while 
fate  is  only  the  term  to  indicate  its  limits,  that  intuition 
is  only  for  those  who  obey  its  laws.  Emerson  accepts 
both  spontaneity  and  fate,  intuition  and  law ;  but  he 
does  not  attempt  to  reconcile  them  by  any  philosophical 
explanation  :  — 

"  If  there  be  irresistible  dictation,  he  says,  this  dictation  under 
stands  itself.  If  we  must  accept  fate,  we  are  not  less  compelled  to 
affirm  liberty,  the  significance  of  the  .individual,  the  grandeur  of 
duty,  the  power  of  character.  This  is  true,  and  that  other  is  true. 
But  our  geometry  can  not  span  these  extreme  points,  and  reconcile 
them.  AVhat  to  do?  By  .obeying  each  thought  frankly,  by  harp 
ing,  or,  if  you  will,  pounding  on  each  string,  we  learn  at  last  its 
power.  By  the  same  obedience  to  other  thoughts,  we  learn  theirs ; 
and  then  conies  some  reasonable  hope  of  harmonizing  them.  We 
are  sure,  that,  though  we  know  not  how,  necessity  does  comport 
with  liberty,  the  individual  with  the  world,  my  polarity  with  the 
spirit  of  the  times."  2 

There  K-iate  everywhere,  in  matter,  mind,  and  morals, 
as  bound  or  limitation ;  but  fate  also  has  its  lord,  its 

i  Conduct  of  Life,  pp.  6,  11,  16,  17.  2  Ibid.,  p.  2. 


336  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

limits.  In  man  there  is  free  will,  and  freedom  itself  be 
comes  then  a  necessity.  There  is. always  choosing  and 
acting  in  the  soul,  and  intellect  annuls  fate.  The  con 
dition  of  freedom-  Emerson  puts  into  these  words  :  u  So 
far  as  a  man  thinks,  he  is  free."  1  When  a  man  renounces 
his  own  whims  and  guesses,  takes  the  divine  directions, 
learns  and  obeys  the  laws  of  God,  then  he  conquers,  and 
becomes  the  master  of  fate.  The,  first  step  to  the  mas 
tering  of  fate  is,  that  we  shall  recognize  the  invariable 
will  of  God,  the  absolute  order  and  unity  of  the  universe. 
The  second  is,  self-renunciation  and  obedience,  perfect 
acceptance  of  that  will  and  those  laws.  Wherever  there 
are  any  facts  whose  law  is  not  known  and  obeyed,  there 
is  fate.  On  the  other  hand,  freedom  is  knowledge  of  the 
infinite  law,  and  obedience  to  it.  There  is  organization 
behind,  liberty  before,  because  intellect  is  constantly 
discovering  the  laws  of  the  world,  and  by  obeying  mas 
ters  them.  u Liberatioii^of  the  will  .from  thf»  sheaths 
and  clogs  of  organization  which  he  has  outgrown,  is 
the  end  and  aim  of  this  world."  2  All  experience,  all 
thought,  leads  to  this  blessed  result :  — 

"  Just  as  much  intellect  as  yon  add,  so  much  organic  power.  He 
who  sees  through  the  design  T  presid^  over  it,  an^  must,  willow. 
Shic_h  must  be.  Our  thought,  though  it  were  only  an  liour~75I3, 
affirms  an  oldest  necessity,  not  to  be  separated  from  thought,  and 
not  to  be  separated  from  will.  They  must  always  have  co-existed. 
It  apprises  us  of  its  sovereignty  and  godhead,  which  refuse  to  be 
severed  from  it.  It  is  not  mine  or  thine,  but  the  will  of  all  mind. 
It  is  poured  into  the  wills  of  all  men,  as  the  soul  itself  which  con 
stitutes  them  men.  I  know  not  whether  there  be,  as  is  alleged,  in 
the  upper  region  of  our  atmosphere,  a  permanent  westerly  current, 
which  carries  with  it  all  atoms  which  rise  to  that  height ;  but  I  see, 
that,  when  souls  reach  a  certain  clearness  of  perception,  they  accept 
a  knowledge  and  motive  above  selfishness.  A  breath  of  will  blows 
eternally  through  the  universe  of  souls  in  the  direction  of  the  right 
and  necessary.  It  is  the  air  which  all  intellects  inhale  and  exhale, 
and  it  is  the  wind  which  blows  the  worlds  into  order  and  orbit."  8 

Freedom  within  bonds,  necessitated  freedom,  is  what 
Emerson  teaches.  Here  especially  he  recognizes  the 
law  of  antinomy  as  developed  by  Kant  and  Hegel,  by 

i  Ibid.,  p.  19.  2  jbid.,  p.  30.  s  Ibid.,  p.  22. 


FATE   AND    FREEDOM.  337 

which  we  rise  through  contrasts  and  opposition  to  a 
higher  point  of  view,_  to  a  higher  truth,  which  absorbs, 
and  holds  within  itself,  the  two  oppositions.  Fate  and 
freedom  are  alike  true,  though  they  antagonize  each 
other.  They  are  the  same  truth  seen  from  opposite 
directions,  and  neither  phase  of  this  truth  can  be  spared. 
If,  however,  an  explicit  affirmation  of  free  will  is  de 
sired,  Emerson  has  given  it :  — 

"  Morals  implies  freedom  and  will,  he  says.  The  will  constitutes 
the  man.  He  has  his  life  in  Nature,  like  a  beast ;  but  choice  is 
bom  in  him ;  here  is  he  that  chooses  ;  here  is  the  Declaration  of 
Independency,  the  July  Fourth  of  zoology  and  astronomy.  He 
chooses,  —  as  the  rest  of  the  creation  does  not.  But  will,  pure  and 
perceiving,  is  not  willfulness.  When  a  man,  through  stubbornness, 
insists  to  do  this  or  that,  something  absurd  or  whimsical,  only 
because  he  will,  he  is  weak ;  he  blows  with  his  lips  against  the 
tempest,  he  dams  the  incoming  ocean  with  his  cane.  It  were  an 
unspeakable  calamity  if  any  one  should  think  he  had  the  right  to 
impose  a  private  will  on  others.  That  is  the  part  of  a  striker,  an 
assassin.  All  violence,  all  that  is  dreary  and  repels,  is  not  power, 
but  the  absence  of  power.  Morals  is  the  direction  of  the  will  on 
universal  ends."  l 

The  world  is  ^a  unity,  under  the  direction  of  perfect 
order  ;  that  i_s,  it  obeys  invariable  law.  Man  can  elect 
to  obey  or  disobey  this  order,  to  keep  the  laws  or  to 
break  them.  When  he  keeps  them,  rising  to  that  point 
where  he  understands  them  as  the  workings  of  the  per 
fect  methods  of  God,  then  he  gladly,  of  his  own  free 
will,  accepts  them,  and  finds 'they  impose  no  restraints, 
that  they  are  one  with  the  highest  spirit  of  free  intelli 
gence.  When  we  yield  up  the  attempt  to  guide  our 
selves,  and  accept  the  guidance  of  that  great  Soul  in 
whom^we  live,  then  do  we  for  the  first  time  discover 
what  it  is  to  have  freedom  of  will,  to  have,  not  the 
impulse  and  license  of  the  disorderly  soul,  but  the  per 
fect  liberty  of  those  who  know  and  "joyously  follow  the 
true  and.  the  right.  To  this  thought  Emerson  con 
stantly  returns,  and  urges  t)ie  yitnl  vQH  ^f  oyrrpmm'n- 
all  privates  selfish  desires,  all  individual  purposes  and 
motives,  all  wishes  which  separate  from  the  great  order 

1  Character,  p.  356. 


338  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

of  the  world  and  the  life  of  our  fellow-men,  and  of 
accepting  those  things  alone  which  are  universal.  When 
we  have  attained  the  true  point  of  outlook  upon  life, 
when  we  see  the  order  of  the  world  is  sacred  and 
necessary,  we  gladly  accept  the  pain  and  retribution 
consequent  upon  our  own  disobedience.  We  rejoice  that 
no  hurt  c;in  be  brought  upon  God's  fair  world,  though 
we  musT  suffer.  This  doctrine  of  lowly  trust  and  obe 
dience,  of  having  no  will  but  the  will  of  God,  Emerson 
has  clearly  taught  in  one  of  the  most  striking  and 
beautiful  passages  in  all  his  writings.  It  should  be 
remembered,  however,  that  in  this  trust  and  submission 
he  finds  the  very  conditions  of  self-reliance  and  personal 
freedom. 

"  A  man  should  be  a  guest  in  his  own  house,  and  a  guest  in  his 
own  thought.  He  is  there  to  speak  for  truth;  but  who  is  he? 
Some  clod  the  earth  has  snatched  from  the  ground,  and  with  fire 
has  fashioned  to  a  momentary  man.  Without  the  truth  he  is  a 
clod  again.  Let  him  find  his  superiority  in  not  wishing  superi 
ority  ;  find  the  riches  of  love  which  possesses  that  which  it  adores ; 
the  riches  of  poverty;  the  height  of  lowliness,  the  immensity  of 
to-day ;  and,  in  the  passing  hour,  the  age  of  ages.  Wondrous  state 
of  man  !  Never  so  happy  as  when  he  has  lost  all  private  interests 
and  regards,  and  exists  only  in  obedience  and  love  of  the  Author." 

"  We  perish,  and  perish  gladly,  if  the  law  remains.  I  hope  it  is 
conceivable  that  a  man  may  go  to  ruin  gladly,  if  he  see  that  thereby 
no  shade  falls  on  that  he  loves  and  adores.  .  .  .  Cripples  and  inva 
lids,  we  doubt  not  there  are  bounding  fawns  in  the  forest,  and  lilies 
with  graceful,  springing  stem  ;  so  neither  do  we  doubt  or  fail  to 
love  the  eternal  law,  of  wrhich  we  are  such  shabby  practicers. 
Truth  gathers  itself  spotless  arid  unhurt  after  all  our  surrenders 
and  concealments  and  partisanship,  never  hurt  by  the  treachery  or 
ruin  of  its  best  defenders." 

"  Have  you  said  to  yourself  ever,  '  I  abdicate  all  choice,  I  see  it 
is  not  for  me  to  interfere.  I  see  that  I  have  been  one  of  the  crowd ; 
that  I  have  been  a  pitiful  person,  because  I  have  wished  to  be  my 
own  master,  and  to  dress,  and  order  my  whole  way  and  system  of 
living.  I  thought  I  managed  it  very  well.  I  see  that  my  neighbors 
think  so.  I  have  heard  prayers.  I  have  prayed,  even ;  but  I  have 
never  until  now  dreamed  that  this  undertaking  the  entire  manage 
ment  of  my  own  affairs  was  not  commendable.  I  have  never  seen, 
until  now,  that  it  dwarfed  me.  I  have  not  discovered,  until  this 
blessed  ray  flashed  just  now  through  my  soul,  that  there  dwelt  any 
power  in  nature  that  would  relieve  me  of  my  load.  But  now  I 


FATE   AND   FREEDOM.  839 

"What  is  this  intoxicating  sentiment  that  allies  this  scrap  of 
dust  to  the  whole  of  Nature,  and  the  whole  of  Fate,  —  that  makes 
this  doll  a  dweller  in  ages,  mocker  at  time,  able  to  span  all  out 
ward  advantages,  peer  and  master  of  the  elements  ?  I  am  taught 
by  it  that  what  touches  any  thread  in  the  vast  web  of  being  touches 
me.  I  am  representative  of  the  whole ;  and  the  good  of  the  whole, 
or  what  I  call  the  right,  makes  me  invulnerable. 

"  How  came  this  creation  so  magically  woven  that  nothing  can 
do  me  mischief  but  myself,  —  that  an  invisible  fence  surrounds  my 
being,  which  screens  me  from  all  harm  that  I  will  to  resist  ?  If  I 
will  stand  upright,  the  creation  can  not  bend  me.  But  if  I  violate 
myself,  if  I  commit  a  crime,  the  lightning  loiters  by  the  speed  of 
retribution,  and  every  act  is  not  hereafter  but  instantaneously  re 
warded  according,  to  its  quality.  Virtue  is  the  adopting  of  this  dic 
tate  of  the  universal  mind  by  the  individual  will.  Character  is  the 
habit  of  this  obedience,  and  religion  is  the  accompanying  emotion 
of  reverence  which  the  presence  of  the  universal  mind  ever  excites 
in  the  individual."  l 

All  good  for  man  consists  in  his  obedience  to  the  laws  ' 
of  God7^U^¥^-  in  Ills'  disobedience.     Truth  and  virtue,     ' 
Emerson  says,  are  an  influx  from  God,  in  response  to  our 
obedience  to  him.     "Vice  is  the  absence  or  departure 
of  the  same."2     Evil  is  selfishness,  personal  preference, 
the  desiring  a  good  apart   from   others.     "  Every  per 
sonal    consideration   that  we  allow  costs    us   heavenly 
state.     We  sell  the  thrones  of  angels  for  a  short  and 
turbulent  pleasure."3     His  conception  of  evil   he  has 
exactly  stated  in  these  words  :  — 

"  Good  is  positive.  Evil  is  merely  privative,  not  absolute  ;  it  is 
like  cold,  which  is  the  privation  of  heat.  All  evil  is  so  much  death, 
or  nonentity.  Benevolence  is  absolute  and  real.  So  much  benev 
olence  as  a  man  hath,  so  much  life  hath  he.  Whilst  a  man  seeks 
good  ends,  he  is  strong  by  the  whole  strength  of  nature.  In  so 
far  as  he  roves  from  these  ends,  he  bereaves  himself  of  power,  or 
auxiliaries;  his  being  shrinks  out  of  all  remote  channels,  he  be 
comes  less  and  less,  a  mote,  a  point,  until  absolute  badness  is  abso 
lute  death."4 

This  concerjtion  of  evil,  as  merely  adepriyation  of 
life  in  its~fulmess,  is  common  to  the  mysticsT  Schel- 

is  necessary,  it  is  nothing 
real.     Eckhart  sees  in  it  necessary  phases  of  the  return 

1  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,  p.  410.  2  Essays,  first  series,  p.  108. 

8  Ibid.,  p.  279.  4  Miscellanies,  p.  120. 


340  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

of  man  to  God,  or  a  means  to  the  realization  of  man's 
perfection.  This  idea  anticipates  Emerson's  attitude 
towards  this  problem,  as  does  Eckhart's  assertion  that 
sin  is  necessary  to  the  development  of  good  in  man. 
He  says  we  should  not  wish  not  to  have  sinned,  and  this 
thought  Emerson  has  also  more  than  once  expressed. 

Emerson  says  that  "for  the  intellect  there  is  no 
crime."  l  When  we  apprehend  the  laws  of  the  world, 
we  see  they  can  not  be  broken  so  far  as  the  laws  are 
concerned,  that  they  act  always  the  same  whether  we 
obey  them  or  not ;  consequently  no  law,  no  truth,  no 
principle,  is  ever  violated  or  ever  can  be,  so  far  as  the 
law  in  itself  is  concerned.  It  is-io-Jiiuilone  the  evil  is 
idone,  the  violation  is  wrought.  So  perfect  does  he 
regard  the  order  of  the  universe,  he  can  not  think  of 
any  actual  flaw  in  it,  any  real  discord.  But  when  we 
do  violence  to  our  own  natures,  forsaking  the  law  of 
God,  then  conscience,  declares  we  have  done  wrong, 
and  demands  renewed  obedieace.  "Saints  are  sad,  he 
says,  because  they  behold  sin  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  conscience,  and  not  of  the  intellect ;  a  confusion 
of  thought.  Sin  seen  from  the  thought,  is  a  diminu 
tion  or  less;  seen  from  the  conscience  or  will,  it  is  a 
pravity  or  bad.  The  intellect  names  it  shade,  absence 
of  light,  and  no  essence.  The  conscience  must  feel  it 
as  essence,  essential  evil.  This  it  is  not ;  it  has  an 
objective  existence,  but  no  subjective."2  Again  he 
says,  "That  pure  malignity  can  exist,  is  the  extreme 
proposition  of  unbelief.  It  is  not  to  be  entertained  by 
a  rational  agent ;  it  is  atheism ;  it  is  the  last  profanation. 
The  divine  effort  is  never  relaxed ;  the  carrion  in  the 
sun  will  convert  itself  to  grass  and  flowers ;  and  man, 
though  in  brothels,  or  jails,  or  on  gibbets,  is  on  his  way 
to  all  that  is  good  and  true."3  Yet  he  says  that 
"  every  thing  is  superficial,  and  perishes,  but  love  and 
truth  only."  4  "  He  who  loves  goodness,  harbors  angels, 
reveres  reverence,  and  lives  with  God.  The  less,  how 
ever,  we  have  to  do  with  our  sins,  the  better.  No  man 

1  Essays,  second  series,  p.  80.  2  Ibid. 

8  Representative  Men,  p.  138.  4  Ibid.,  p.  139. 


FATE   AND    FREEDOM.  341 

can  afford  to  waste  his  moments  in  compunctions." l 
We  are  not  to  think  constantly  about  our  own  good, 
but  to  look  forward  towards  loyalty  to  God  arid  the 
universal  good  which  results  from  it.  Thus  he  makes 
all  evil  t_o..be  lack  of  harmony,  good  in  the  making. 
Sin  is  disobedience,  selfishness,  disloyalty.  In  his  first 
book"  he  taught  that  life  is  for  discipline,  to  teach  us 
the  lessons  of  spiritual  loyalty.  The  same  idea  he  has 
maintained  in  all  his  books.  We  try  ourselves  against 
the  laws  of  the  world,  seek  to  go  forward  in  ways  of 
our  own.  We  are  permitted  to  do  so,  only  because  it  is 
by  free  choice,  by  our  own  seekings  and  experiments, 
we  at  last  gladly  and  willingly  accept  the  liberty  which 
is  obedience.  These  missteps,  these  experiments,  and 
struggles  forward,  teach  us  the  way  of  truth  as  other 
wise  we  could  not  learn  it.  "  We  are  used  as  brute 
atoms,  until  we  think ;  then  we  use  all  the  rest.  Nature 
turns  all  malfaisance  to  good."2 

Emerson  has  well  taught  the  fact  which  all  historians 
of  social  progress  now  recognize,  that  man  has  devel 
oped  by  experience,  by  conflict  of  interests,  by  survival 
of  those  men  and  interests  fittest  to  carry  forward  social 
order.  In  his  essay  on  War  he  gave  it  fall  recogni 
tion,  and  in  that  entitled  Considerations  by  the  Way 
he.  developed  it  more  fully.  He  says  the  spawning 
productivity  of  nature  "is  not  noxious  or  needless. 
You  will  say,  this  rabble  of  nations  might  be  spared. 
But  no,  they  are  all  counted  and  depended  on.  Fate 
keeps  every  thing  alive  so  long  as  the  smallest  thread 
of  public  necessity  holds  it  on  the  tree.  The  coxcomb 
and  bully  and  thief  class  are  allowed  as  proletaries, 
every  one  of  their  vices  being  the  excess  or  acridity  of 
a  virtue.  The  mass  are  animal,  in  pupilage,  and  near 
chimpanzee.  But  the  units  whereof  this  mass  is  com 
posed  are  neuters,  every  one  of  which  may  be  grown  to 
a  queen-bee."  We  find  the  majority  of  men  are  unripe, 
have  not  yet  come  to  themselves;  while  in  the  passing 
moment  'the  quadruped  interest  is  very  prone  to  pre 
vail.3  He  says  "the  first  lesson  of  history  is  the  good 

1  Ibid.,  p.  137.  2  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  221.  a  Ibid. 


342  RA.LPH   WALDO   EMEBRON. 

\\  of  evil.     Good  is  a  good  doctor,  but  Bad  is  sometimes 

\ja    better."1     His   meaning   is   indicated   in   numerous 

:   historical  illustrations,  all  showing  there  is  a  tendency 

iu  things  to  right  themselves.     "  The  war  or  revolution 

or   bankruptcy  that   shatters   a   rotten   system   allows 

things  to  take  a  new  and  natural  order.     The  sharpest 

evils  are  bent  into  that  periodicity  which   makes   the 

errors  of  the  planets  and  the  fevers  and  distempers  of 

men   self-limiting.     Nature   is   upheld   by  antagonism. 

/Passions,  resistance,  danger,  are  educators.  We  acquire 
the  strength  we  have  overcome."  So  he  holds  that  men 
are  indebted  to  their  vices  and  defects  for  a  best  part 
of  their  education.^-Mqral  deformity  he  finds  to  be 
"~ — •gsad^passion  frtrCof  placV  When  the  impulse  which 
creates  the  evil  is  wisely Ndirected,  directed  in  confor 
mity  with  the  methods  o\  nature,  then  it  is  good. 
Equally  true  it  is  of  cominWities,  that  an  apparent 
evil  may  result  in  good.  He\ajrs  "  we  can  not  trace 
the  triumphs  of  civilization  to  such  benefactors  as  we 
wish.  The  greatest  meliorator  of  the  world  is  selfish, 
huckstering  trade."  2  It  is  not  because  trade  is  selfish 
that  it  is  the  means  of  good,  but  because  it  unites 
nations  in  common  interests.  Commerce  can  prosper 
only  where  there  are  good  laws,  and  a  large  measure  of 
justice  is  secured.  For  the  sake  of  trade,  where  no 
higher  ends  are  regarded,  law  and  good  order  are  estab 
lished.  There  is  always  at  work  in  the  affairs  of  the 
world,  according  to  Emerson,  a  power  which  compels 
man  to  be  just;  so  that  what  is  useful  and  right  will 
last,  what  is  hurtful  will  sink.8  In  trade,  therefore, 
and  everywhere  else,  it  is  only  the  true,  just,  and  right 
which  prospers.  And  in  many  other  ways  Emerson  is 
far  from  being  merely  an  individualist  in  his  views  of 

1  human  progress.  If  he  would  have  us  sit  alone  and 
listen  to  the  Inward. Voice,  he  does  not  regard  that  as 
the  only  means  of  human  development.  To  a  remark 
able  degree  he  recognizes  the  value  of  united  action, 
he  sees  that  the  race  is  a  solidarity  and  he  entirely 

i  Ibid.,  p.  222.  2  Society  and  Solitude,  p.  149. 

8  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  17. 


FATE    AND   FREEDOM.  348 

rejects  the  theory  that  one  can  be  perfect  while  any 
other  is  imperfect.  Though  so  strong  a  believer  in  the 
great  man,  yet  he  clearly  enough  sees  that  social  con 
cert  is  necessary  to  human  progress.  He  also  recog 
nizes  the  development  which  has  been  secured  by  the 
general  advance  of  intelligence.  Indeed,  Emerson  is 
too  broad-minded  to  see  no  truth  but  in  one  direction. 
Those  who  criticise  him  for  his  extreme  individualism 
are  usually  not  capable  of  that  breadth  of  view  he  has 
always  shown,  and  do  not  as  clearly  perceive  as  he  does, 
that  there  is  truth  in  both  the  individualistic  and  the 
socialistic  theories  of  progress. 

Emerson  is  an  ^optimist  who  jiever  doubts,  who 
thoroughly  believes  that,  all  things  are  good  at  heart. 
He  will  not,  therefore,  believe  in  any  evil  which  is 
more  than  a  temporary  lack  of  harmony.  He  sees  God 
everywhere,  and  everywhere  delegating  his  law  and 
order  to  the  world.  u  There  is  no  chance,  he  says,  and 
no  anarcTiy  in  the  .universe."..  JOTS-  system  and  grada 
tion.''  l  It  is^  his  large  faith  in  law,  as  the  highest 
method  of  freedom,  which !  permits-  Mm  to  believe  there 
run  roTil  m'1  in  thp  world.  He  sees  a  perfect  law  cf 
o.orn pension  a,t'  worlr  ftYfr^wrmi fi  "  ."."J<-1""1  nf  cause 
and  effect  so  exact,  that  there  can  be  no  good  or  evil 
whichTS_  not. deserved]  Every  condition  has  grown  out 
of  precedent  conditions.  Tijf>  ^  tn  11S  what  we  make 
it.  Emerson  has  outgrown  anthropomorphism;  he 
ooes  not  believe  in  a  God  of  arbitrary  decrees.  The 
methods  of  God  he  regards  as  perfect  in  their  order, 
system,  and  invariableness.  All  conformity  to  those 
methods  is  good,  all  disregard  of  them  evil.  So  he 
regards  every  evil  men  suffer  from  as  evidence  that  the 
laws  of  God  are  not  obeyed.  Those  laws  are  self- 
executing  ;  and  the  results  they  produce  in  us  are  the 
exact  measures  of  our  obedience  to  them,  and  hence  of 
our  deserving.  God  has  no  favorites,  his  laws  affect  all 
alike..  Igmerson  iTees  that  this  pel'fULl  uidoi  in  the 
universe,  self-executing,  invariable,  a  law  of  compensa 
tion,  a  law  also  of  cause  and  effect,  insures  for  each 

1  Ibid'.]  p.  287. 


344 


RALPH    WALDO   EMERSOX. 


one  a  destiny  of  his  own  selecting.  God  judges  no 
man,  nor  chooses  heaven  or  hell  for  any.  Men  always 
receive  and  enjoy  "precisely  thai  'measure  of  good  or 
evil  they  cleserve,  which  results  from  their  measure  of 
obedience  to  the  laws  of  God.  u  He  is  great  whose 
eyes  are  opened  to  see  that  the  reward  of  actions  can 
not  be  escaped,  because  he  is  transformed  into  his 
action,  and  taketh  its  nature,  which  bears  its  own  fruit, 
like  every  other  tree."  l 

Xo  evil  c vei\ &aCapcs  ampim i.shed^ac£Qrding  to  Emer'- 
son.  Whatever  theory  the  intellect  devises  as  explain 
ing  the  problem  of  evil,  he  finds  the  conscience  always 
proclaiming  that  all  evil  is  to  be  dreaded  and  shunned 
as  real.  Retribution  for  evil  done  he  finds  to  be  exact 
ing  and  instantaneous.  In  his  essay  on  Compensation, 
he  has  given  to  the  world  a  noble  theory  of  rewards 
and  punishments.  He  sees  God  present  everywhere, 
v  in  the  fullness  of  his  being,  with  the  whole  vigor  of  his 
life,  and  in  the  entire  power  of  his  law.  So  he  says,  — 

"  The  true  doctrine  of  omnipresence  is,  that  God  appears  with 

V    all  his  parts  in  every  moss  and  cobweb.     The  value  of  the  universe 

*    contrives  to  throw  itself  into  every  point.     If  the  good  is  there,  so 

is  the  evil ;  if  the  aihnity,  so  is  the  repulsion ;  if  the  force,  so  the 

limitation. 

*'  Thus  is  the  universe  alive.  All  things  are  moral.  That  soul, 
which  within  us  is  a  sentiment,  outside  of  us  is  a  law.  We  feel  its 
inspiration;  out  there  in  history  we  can  see  its  fatal  strength. 
Justice  is  not  postponed.  A  perfect  equity  adjusts  its  balance  in 
^  all  parts  of  life.  The  dice  of  God  are  always  loaded.  .  .  .  Every 
lecret  is  told,  every  crime  is  punished,  every  virtue  rewarded, 
ivery  wrong  redressed,  in  silence  arid  certainty.  What  we  call 
'etribution  is  the  universal  necessity  by  which  the  whole  appears 
wherever  a  part  appears.  .  .  .  Crime  and  punishment  grow  out  of 
one  stem.  Punishment  is  a  fruit  that  unsuspected  ripens  within 
'the  flower  of  the  pleasure  which  concealed  it.  Cause  and  effect, 
means  and  ends,  seed  and  fruit,  can  not  be  severed ;  for  the  effect 
always  blooms  in  the  cause,  the  end  pre-exists  in  the  means,  the 
fruit  in  the  seed.  .  .  .  Pleasure  is  taken  out  of  pleasant  things, 
profit  out  of  profitable  things,  power  out  of  strong  things,  as  soon 
as  we  seek  to  separate  them  from  the  whole.  We  can  no  more 
halve  things  and  get  the  sensual  good,  by  itself,  than  we'  can  get 
an  i;i:-,id«  that  shall  have  no  outside,  or  a  light  without  a  shadow. 

1  Ibid  ,  p.  201. 


FATE   AND   FREEDOM.  845 

"Life  invests  itself  with  inevitable  conditions,  which  the  un 
wise  seek  to  dodge,  which  one  and  another  brags  that  he  does 
not  know,  that  they  do  not  touch  him,  —  but  the  brag  is  on  his 
lips,  the  conditions  are  in  his  soul.  If  he  escapes  them  in  one 
part,  they  attack  him  in  another  more  vital  part.  If  he  has 
escaped  them  in  form,  and  in  the  appearance,  it  is  because  he 
has  resisted  his  life,  and  fled  from  himself  ;  and  the  retribution  is 
so  much  death."  1 

Here,  again,  we  see  the  vital  significance  of  what 
Emerson  teaches  concerning  self-renunciation  and 
obedience.  As  we  renounce  all  selfish  ends,  all  whims  \ 
of  our  own,  and  seek  exactly  to  obey  the  laws  of  the'  > 
world,  are  we  made  strong  and  .whole.  As  we  disobey, 
retribution-  follows.  Emerson  points  out  how  this  retri 
bution  results  'from  the  failure  to  obey  the  laws  of  God. 
As  we  exercise  the  muscles,  they  grow  stronger.  If  we 
study,  we  grow  wiser.  Strength  comes  only  by  exer 
cise,  wisdom  only  by  search  for  it.  Muscles  not  used 
grow  powerless  ;  who  does  not  study  remains  ignorant. 
Everywhere  it  is  the  same.  Love  begets  love.  "  The 
exclusionist  in  religion  does  not  see  that  he  shuts  the 
door  of  heaven  on  himself,  in  striving  to  shut  out 
others.  Treat  men  as  pawns  and  ninepins,  and  you 
shall  suffer  as  well  as  they.  If  you  leave  out  their 
heart,  you  shall  lose  your  own."  2  It  is  not  merely  that 
men  treat  you  as  you  treat  them ;  but  all  narrowness 
and  exclusive  ness  make  little  the  soul,  dwarf  its  sym 
pathies,  cramp  its  energies.  "  All  infractions  of  love 
and  equity  in  our  social  relations  are  speedily  pun 
ished."  3  They  are  punished  by  fear,  hatred,  and  war. 
The  tyrant  is  constantly  in  danger  of  losing  his  life 
from  the  hatred  of  those  he  enslaves.  The  selfish  rich 
man  finds  many  dangers  besetting  his  riches.  "  The 
league  between  virtue  and  nature,  Emerson  says, 
engages  all  things  to  assume  a  hostile  front  to  vice. 
XThe  beautiful  laws  and  substances  of  the  world  perse 
cute  and  whip  the  traitor.  He  finds  that  things  are 
arranged  for  truth  and  benefit,  but  there  is  no  den  in 
the  wide  world  to  hide  a  rogue.  ^Commit  a  crime,  and 

1  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  91-94.  2  J 


346  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

the  earth  is  made  of  glass."  On  the  other  hand,  the 
law  holds  with  equal  surety  for  all  right  action.  "  Love, 
and  you  shall  be  loved.  All  love  is  mathematically 
just,  as  much  as  the  two  sides  of  an  algebraic  equation. 
The  good  man  has  absolute  good,  which,  like  fire,  turns 
every  thing  to  its  own  nature,  so  that  you  can  not  do 
him  any  harm."  l 

FromthisJ-awofi compensation  and  retribution,  as 
Emerson  interprets  it,  grow  .two  results,  —  that  men  are 
seen  as  they  are,  and  that  all  men  are  capable  of  receiv 
ing  from  life  an  equal  g^od.  For  the  moment  we  may 
have  credit  for  virtue  we  do  not  possess,  by  those  who 
do  not  penetrate  to  moral  causes  ;  but  we  soon  appear 
to  all  the  wise  as  we  are.  Foolish  are  they  who  think 
they  can  cheat  God,  and  that  his  laws  will  forget  to 
act.  Xln  the  contrary,  every  disobedience  of  the  laws 
of  the  world  instantly  betrays  itself ;  and  our  nature 
depreciates,  weakens. 

"  As  much  virtue  as  there  is,  so  much  appears ;  as  much  good 
ness  as  there  is,  so  much  reverence  it  commands.  All  the  devils 
respect  virtue.  The  high,  the  generous,  the  self-devoted  sect,  will 
always  instruct  and  command  mankinds  Never  was  a  sincere  word 
utterly  lost.  Never  a  magnanimity  fell  to  the  ground,  but  there  is 
some  heart  to  greet  and  accept  it  unexpectedly.  A  man  passes  for 
what  he  is  worth.  What  he  is  engraves  itself  on  his  face,  on  his 
form,  on  his  fortunes,  in  letters  of  light.  Concealment  avails  him 
nothing;  boasting  nothing.  There  is  confession  in  the  glances  of 
our  eyes,  in  our  smiles,  in  salutations,  and  the  grasp  of  hands.  His 
sin  bedaubs  him,  mars  all  his  good  impression.  Men  know  not 
why  they  do  not  trust  him,  but  they  do  not  trust  him.  His  vice 
glasses  his  eyes,  cuts  lines  of  mean  expression  in  his  cheeks,  pinches 
the  nose,  sets  the  mark  of  the  beast  on  the  back  of  the  head,  and 
writes  O  fool !  fool !  on  the  forehead  of  a  king. 

,"If  you  would  not  be  known  to  do  any  thing,  never  do  it.  A 
man  may  play  fool  in  the  drifts  of  a  desert,  but  every  grain  of 
sand  shall  seem  to  see.  He  may  be  a  solitary  eater,  but  he  can  not 
keep  his  foolish  counsel.  A  broken  complexion,  a  swinish  look, 
ungenerous  acts,  and  the  want  of  due  knowledge,  —  all  blab. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  the  hero  fears  not,  that,  if  he  withhold  the 
avowal  of  a  just  and  brave  act,  it  will  go  unwitnessed  and  unloved. 
One  knows  it,  —  himself,  —  and  is  pledged  by  it  to  sweetness  of 
peace,  and  to  nobleness  of  aim,  which  will  prove  in  the  end  a  bet 
ter  proclamation  of  it  than  the  relating  of  the  incident.  Virtue  is 

i  Ibid.,  pp.  10,'i,  104. 


FATE   AXD   FREEDOM.  347 

the  adherence  in  action  to  the  nature  of  things,  and  the  nature  of 
tilings  makes  it  prevalent.  It  consists  in  a  perpetual  substitution 
of  being  for  seeming. 

"  The  lesson  which  these  observations  convey  is,  Be,  and  not 
seem.  Let  us  acquiesce.  Let  us  take  our  bloated  nothingness  out 
of  the  path  of  the  divine  circuits.  Let  us  unlearn  our  wisdom  of 
the  world.  Let  us  lie  low  in  the  Lord's  power,  and  learn  that  truth 
alone  makes  rich  and  great."  J 

The  law  of  compensation  brings  men   to  the  same  I 
level,  so  far  as  the  benefits  are  concerned  which  nature  1 
gives.     The  genius  has  his  defects  and  his  larger  duties  I 
and   anxieties.      The   plowman   is  ignorant  in   books,   1 
but   lie   has   his  own   ability  and  enjoyment,   and  his   ) 
clearer  perception  of  realities.      "  The  walls  of  rude  / 
minds,  Emerson  says,  are  scrawled  all  over  with  facts,/ 
with  thoughts."2     "We  are   all  wise,   he    adds.     The' 
difference   between  persons  is  not  in   wisdom,   but  in 
art." 3      Again  he  says,    "  The  permanent   interest   of 
every  man  is,  never  to  be  in  a  false  position,  but  to 
have  the  weight  of  Nature  to  back  him  in  all  that  he 
does.     Riches  and  poverty  are  a  thick  or  thin  costume, 
and  our  life  — -  the  life  of  all  of  us  —  identical."  4     We 
all  get  out  of  life  much  the  same  results.     AU  experi 
ences,  teach  the  same  laws  of  renunciation,  obedience,  and 

self-£eliance._ As  we  receive  only  what  we  pay  for,  if  we  ! 

have  much,  w£-  Jiave  many  burdens  with  it.  Because^.  ' 
however,  each  soul  is  of  the  nature  of  the  Universal 
Mjj^d,  it  iias  tree  access  into  all  truth.  T.a.nTi  m^n  js  an 
inlet  to  ail  wisdom  wnen  nis  mind  is  open  to  reason, 
and  he  "is  made  a  freeman  oi'  the  whole  estate.  What 
Plato  has  tnougnt,  tie  may  tnink;  wliat  a  saint  has  felt, 
he  may  feel ;  what  at  any  tune  has  befallen  any  man, 
he  can  understand."  This  is  the  thought  of  his  lines 
which  serve  as  the  motto  to  the  essay  on  History.  As 
an  organ  of  the  Universal  Mind,  each  soul  is  admitted 
into  every  thought  and  aspiration  of  the  greatest  souls. 

"  I  am  owner  of  the  sphere, 
Of  the  seven  stars  and  the  solar  year, 
Of  Caesar's  hand,  and  Plato's  brain, 
Of  Lord  Christ's  heart,  and  Shakspere's  strain." 

i  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  142, 143.  2  ibid.,  p.  300. 

»  Ibid.,  p.  302.  *  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  286, 


348  KALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 


, 


In  morals,  however,  we  can  not  be  alike  ;  for  obedi 
ence  receives  a  reward  evil  can  not  possibly  find.  On 
virtue  there  is  no  tax ;  "  for  that  is  the  incoming  of 
God  himself,  or  absolute  existence,  without  any  com 
pensatlon."  This  incoming  of  God  to  the  soul  is  a  gift 
of  grace  to  those  who  make  pure  the  channels  of  their 
being  for  its  reception,  but  all  men  are  equal  so  far  as 
every  quality  is  concerned  but  the  moral. 

_  "  In  the  nature  of  the  soul  is  the  compensation  for  the  inequal 
ities  of  condition.  The  radical  tragedy  of  nature  seems  to  be  the 
distinction  of  more  and  less.  How  can  less  not  feel  the  pain  ;  how 
not  feel  indignation  or  malevolence  towards  more  f  Look  at  those 
who  have  less  faculty,  and  one  feels  sad,  and  knows  not  well  what 
to  make  of  it.  He  almost  shuns  their  eye;  he  fears  they  will 
upbraid  God.  What  should  they  do  ?  It  seems  a  great  injustice. 
But'see^the  facts  nearly,  and  these  mountainous  inequalities  vanish. 
Love  reduces  them,  as  the  sun  melts  the  iceberg  in  the  sea.  The 
heart  and  soul  of  all  men  being  one,  this  bitterness  of  His  and 
Mine  ceases.  His  is  mine." 

"  The  compensations  of  calamity  are  made  apparent  to  the 
understanding  also,  after  long  intervals  of  time.  A  fever,  a 
mutilation,  a  cruel  disappointment,  a  loss  of  wealth,  a  loss  of 
friends,  seems  at  the  moment  unpaid  loss,  and  unpayable.  But 
the  sure  years  reveal  the  deep  remedial  force  that  underlies  all 
facts."1 

The  identification  of  morals  and  religion  has  not  been 
a  peculiarity  of  Emerson'-s.  The  idealists  have  had  this 
thought  .before  them  from  the  time  of  Plato,  and  by  the 
mystics  it  has  been  made  prominent.  In  the  same  way, 
the  unity  of  being  and  knowledge  has  not  been  new  to 
Emerson. .  The  mystics,  who  have  found  their  center  of 
thought  m  the  teachings  of  Plotinus,  Eckhart,  Boehme, 
and  Schelling,  have  all  said  that  conduct  and  knowledge 
always  stand  at  the  same  level  in  each  human  soul. 
Many  of  the  idealists  have  accepted  the  same  conclu 
sion,  as  it  was  very  clearly  taught  by  Plato.  Schcl- 
ling  and  Caiiyle  alike  say  that  intellect  and  goodness 
always  go  together,  always  are  of  equal  power  in  the  in 
dividual.  Emerson  says  "the  good  man  will  be  the 
wise  man."2  The  moral  sentiment  to  him  " seems  to 

1  Essays,  first  Heries,  pp.  110,  113.  2  Essays,  first  series,  p.  215 


FATE  AND    FREEDOM.  349 

be  the  fountain  of  intellect,"  and  it  is  the  basis  alike  of 
thought  and  being.1  "The  high  intellect,  he  says,  is 
absolutely  at  one  with  moral  nature."  2  This  idea  he 
has  even  more  explicitly  stated  in  these  words :  "  There 
is  an  intimate  inter-dependence  of  intellect  and  morals. 
Given.the  equality  of  two  intellects,  —  which  will  form 
the  most  reliable  judgments,  the  good,  or  the  bad 
hearted  ?  So  intimate  is  this  alliance  of  mind  arid  heart, 
that  talent  uniformly  sinks  with  character.  The  bias  of 
errors  of  principle  carries  away  men  into  perilous  courses 
as  soon  as  their  will  does  not  control  their  passion  or 
talent."3 

He  believes  that  the  human  being  is  so  thoroughly  a 
unit  that  a  defect  in  any  part  of  it  appears  in  all  the 
others.  "  I  find  the  unity  in  human  structures,  he  says, 
rather  virulent  and  pervasive ;  that  a  crudity  in  the 
blood  will  appear  in  the  argument ;  a  hump  in  the 
shoulder  will  appear  in  the  speech  and  handiwork.  If 
his  mind  could  be  seen,  the  hump  would  be  seen."4 
That  is,  the  body  is  a  picture,  a  likeness  of  the  soul,  and 
reflects  the  soul's  true  nature. 

The  analogous  doctrine  of  moral  affinity  also  appears 
in  Emerson's  pages.  He  says  "  society  exists  by  chem 
ical,  affinity,"5  and  that  in  any  company  a  rapid  self- 
distribution  takes  place,  into  sets  and  pairs.  This 
idea  he  presents  in  the  essay  on  Spiritual  Laws,  where 
he'  says  that  a  man  is  a  selecting  principle,  gathering 
his  like  to  him  wherever  he  goes.  "  Nothing  is  more 
deeply  punished,  he  says,  than  the  neglect  of  the  affini 
ties,  by  which  alone  society  should  be  formed." 6  This 
affinity  is  expressed  through  the  eyes.  Souls  that  are 
fitted  to  each  other  look  into  each  other's  eyes  and  read 
each  other's  secrets  without  words.  This  idea  occasion 
ally  appears  in  the  essays,  and  it  is  the  main  thought  of 
the  poem  on  The  Visit.  Goethe  has  given  expression 
to  the  same  thought. 

1  Character,  p.  358.  2  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,  p.  405. 

3  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  189.  *  Ibid.,  p:  38. 

6  Society  and  Solitude,  p.  13.  6  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  129,  135. 


350  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

"  The  unit  of  the  visit, 
The  encounter  of  the  wise,  — 
Say,  what  other  meter  is  it 
Than  the  meeting  of  the  eyes  ? 
Nature  poureth  into  nature 
hrough  the  channels  of  that  feature. 

look  has  drained  the  breast ; 
gle  moment  years  confessed." 

.  \v 

In  judging  Emerson's  moral  theories,  it  should  not  be 

forgotten  that  he  is  an  optimist,  who  believes  there  is  no 
evil,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  universe  but  what  is 
food.  He  refuses  to  see  the  evil,  to  recognize  that  bur- 
Leii  of  pain  .and  misery,  which  afflicts  so  many  minds. 
All  is  good,  all  is  under  the  perfect  domain  of  Absolute 
Love,  all  tends  to  a  blessed  destiny ;  this  is  Emerson's 
belief.  This  fail h  in  the  universal  good  has  increased 
with  him  as  he  has  grown  older,  giving. "to  his  life  a 
serenity  and  peace  and  trust  of  the  deepest  and  pro- 
foundest  ^HTafltiPT  -Th?  carrion  that  rots  in  the  sun, 
the  criminal  who  breaks  every  law  of  man  and  God, 
are  yet  on  their  way  to  blessedness.  It  is  easy  to  misun 
derstand  aii3  misrepresent  this  optimism ;  less  easy, 
perhaps,  to  state  it  so  as  not  to  appear  to  annul  moral 
distinctions.  Whoever  will  give  heed,  however,  to 
Emerson's  declaration,  that  every  wrong  is  punished, 
and  that  no  moral  evil  can  prosper  at  last,  will  see  that 
he  does  not  ignore  the  proper  distinctions  to  be  made 
in  regard  to  conduct.  Pie  believes  in  universal  progress, 

that  all  things  are  on  their  way  to  perfect  harmony  with 
_    ..  — ^^ — ^•^^^•^•1  •/       A  t    j 

(jrod ;  he  believes  that  evil  and  pain  and  misery  are 
means' to  this  fin al  restoration  ;  but  he  also  believes  that 
the  morally  pure  ai\d  holy  is,  in  the  end,  the  only  means 
to  the  perfect  realization  of  this  great  consummation. 
He  believes  the  good  is  absolute  and  the  evil  only  phe- 
i  nomenaL  The  evil  is  u  part  of  the  discipline  by  which 
the  soul  is  restored  to  its  union  with  the  Over-soul. 
This  optimism  determines  all  his  views  of  life,  as  well 
as  his  theories  of  man  and  the  universe  and  religion. 
It  is  to  him  an  unfailing  source  of  confidence  in  the 
integrity  of  man  and  nature,  and  it  colors  his  every 
thought  with  an  aspect  of  joy  and  hope. 


CONCERNING   IMMORTALITY. 


THE 

UNIVERSITY 


CONCERNING    IMMORTALITY. 

HV/TYSTICISM  delights  to  dwell  upon  the  complete 
/  -LV-L  union  with  God  which  is  possible  to  the  soul. 
The  mystic  goes  so  far  in_this  direction  as  to  speak  of 
man's  ^absorption  in  God,  of  the  soul  as  being  lost  in 
\Godhead.  It  is  always  difficult  to  decide  the  precise 
leaning  of  such  language.  It  is  yet  a  debated  question 
whether,  the  Buddhist,  who  is  a  pure  mystic,  believes  in 
annihilation  or  in  an  utter  cessation  of  that  which  is 
merely  individual.  Only  a  few  European  mystics  have 
gone  so  far  as  to  leave  any  doubt  as  to  their  meaning. 
Emerson  employs  their  language,  and  he  accepts  their 
view  of  immortality.  What  he  means  when  he  writes  of 
this  subject  can  only  be  clearly  understood  through  the 
aid  of  the  doctrines  of  mysticism.  The  mystic  repeats 
constantly  the  injunction,  that  we  are  to  abandon  self, 
and  become  one  with  God.  Tauler  says  that  man  must 
"  simply  yield  himself  to  God;  ask  nothing,  desire  noth 
ing,  love  #nd  mean  only  God."  "  Some  will  ask,  he 
says,  what  remains  after  a  man  hath  thus  lost  himself  in 
God  ?  I  answer,  nothing  but  a  fathomless  annihilation 
of  himself  ;  an  absolute  ignoring  of  all  reference  to  him 
self  personally  ;  of  all  aim  of  his  own  in  will  and  heart, 
in  way,  in  purpose,  or  in  use.  For  in  this  self-loss  man 
sinks  so  deep,  that,  if  he  could,  out  of  pure  love  and  love 
liness,  sink  deeper,  yea,  and  become  absolutely  nothing, 
he  would  do  so  right  gladly."  He  even  goes  so  far  as  to 
say  that  "  when  the  soul  enters  into  the  unmixed  light, 
she,  with  her  created  I,  sinks  so  deeply  into  her  own 
nothingness,  that  she  can  not  by  her  own  power  regain 
the  sense  of  separate  existence  as  creature."  By  this 
he  does  not  mean  annihilation,  not  even  extinction  of 


352  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

personality ;  for  he  adds,  "  But  God  upholds  her  with 
his  uncreated  power,  and  keeps  the  soul  still  herself" 
So  far  from  believing  in  absorption  of  the  soul  into 
the  ocean  of  Being,  is  Tauler,  that  he  asserts  the  "  free 
self-determination  of  man,"  and  says  that  God,  in  being 
free  and  uncreated,  is  "  alone  equal  to  the  soul  as  touch 
ing  freedom."  Man  becomes  nothing,  and  yet  God  alone 
has  freedom  equal  to  his  !  Tauler  s  "  nothing,"  as  in 
the  case  of  the  other  mystics,  is  not  annihilation,  absorp 
tion,  or  cessation  of  personality.  It  is  perfect  harmony 
with  God,  and  cessation  of  all  passion,  all  merely  indi 
vidual  desire.  Schelling  says  that  man  has  the  im 
manent  ground  of  his  being  in  the  Absolute,  is  nothing 
apart  from  the  indwelling  God ;  yet  he  maintains  that 
man  is  free  and  personal.  "So  little,  he  says,  do  im 
manence  in  God  and  freedom  contradict  each  other, 
that  only  what  is  free  is,  in  so  far  as  it  is  so,  in  God ; 
while  what  is  devoid  of  freedom,  is,  in  so  far  as  it  is  so, 
of  necessity  without  God."  '  Freedom,  therefore,  consists 
in  a  rejection  of  what  is  individual  and  selfish,  for  a  per 
sonal  self-determination  in  harmony  with  God.  This  is 
Emerson's  idea,  when  he  dwells  so  strongly  upon  what 
is  individual,  and  rejects  it  as  the  soul's  greatest  enemy. 
When  he  bids  us  renounce  all  that  is  individual  and 
particular,  he  does  not  ask  us  to  cease  to  exist  or  to  be 
come  absorbed  in  the  Universal  Spirit.  He  also  bids  us 
have  self-reliance  ;  and  he  says  that  each  soul  is  a  new 
and  unmeasured  power,  unlike  all  other  souls.  He  re 
jects  the  individual,  local,  notional,  selfish ;  he  retains 
the  personal,  divine,  and  eternal. 

The  Theologia  Q-ermanica  sees  the  soul's  freedom  in 
submission  to  Eternal  Goodness.  It  says  this  world  is 
an  outer  court  of  eternity,  that  it  is  a  paradise  u  in  which 
all  things  are  lawful  save  one  tree  and  the  fruit  thereof ; 
nothing  is  contrary  to  God  but  self-will,  —  to  will  other 
wise  than  as  the  Eternal  Will  would  have  it."  That 
this  world  is  a  part  of  paradise,  that  the  now  is  eternity, 
is  Emerson's  own  idea.  It  is  the  key  to  his  conception 
of  immortality.  Schelling  had  the  same  thought. 
"  The  I,  he  says,  and  its  essence,  undergoes  neither  con 


CONCERNING   IMMORTALITY.  353 

ditions  nor  restrictions.  Its  primitive  form  is  that  of 
Being,  pure  and  eternal.  We  can  not  say  of  it,  it  was, 
or  it.  will  be,  we  can  only  say,  it  is.  It  exists  absolutely. 
It  is  then  outside  of  time  and  beyond  it.  The  form  of 
its  intellectual  intuition  is  eternity.  Now,  since  it  is 
eternal,  it  has  no  duration,  for  duration  only  relates 
to  objects ;  so  that  eternity  properly  consists  in  having 
nothing  to  do  with  time."  The  soul  is  eternal,  and  in 
its  powers  is  the  promise  of  immortality.  Yet  we  know 
of  a  truth  that  the  soul  is  immortal,  not  by  words  or  by 
any  outward  assurance,  only  by  depth  of  soul,  only  by 
perfect  harmony  of  purpose  with  the  Over-soul.1  This 
thought  Emerson  has  thus  expressed :  — 

"  There  is  nothing  capricious  in  nature.  In  nature  the  implant 
ing  of  a  desire  indicates  that  the  gratification  of  that  desire  is  in 
the  constitution  of  that  creature  that  feels  it.  If  there  is  a  desire 
to  live  in  a  larger  sphere,  or  with  more  knowledge  and  power,  it  is 
because  life  and  knowledge  and  power  are  good- for  us,  and  we  are 
the  rational  depositories  of  such  things.  A  future  state  is  an  illu 
sion  for  the  ever-present  state.  It  isn't  length  of  life,  but  depth  of 
life  ;  it  isn't  duration,  but  a  taking  of  the  soul  out 'of  time.  The 
spiritual  world  takes  place,  the  ever-present,  that  which  is  always 
the  same.  And  this  is  the  way  we  rise  in  being.  I  know  that  the 
universe  can  receive  no  detriment,  that  there  is  a  remedy  for  every 
wrong,  and  a  satisfaction  for  every  soul. 

"  I  have  heard  that  death  takes  us  away  from  ill  things,  not 
from  good.  I  have  heard,  that,  when  we  pronounce  the  name  of 
man,  we  pronounce  the  belief  of  immortality.  All  great  natures 
delight  in  stability ;  all  great  men  find  eternity  affirmed  in  the  very 
promise  of  their  faculties.  Life  is  not  long  enough  for  art,  not  long 
enough  for  friendship.  The  evidence  from  intellect  is  as  valid  as 
the  evidence  from  love.  The  being  that  can  share  a  thought  and 
feeling  so  sublime  as  confidence  in  truth,  is  no  mushroom ;  our 
dissatisfaction  with  any  other  solution  is  the  blazing  evidence  of 
immortality."  2 

He  thinks,  that,  as  soon  as  thought  is  exercised,  this 
belief  is  inevitable.  "  As  soon  as  virtue  glows,  this  be 
lief  confirms  itself.  It  is  a  kind  of  summary  or  com 
pletion  of  man.  It  can  not  rest  on  a  legend ;  it  can  not 
be  quoted,  from  one  to  another ;  it  must  have  the  assur- 

1  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  257,  258. 

2  Newspaper  report  of  a  lecture  delivered  before  the  Parker  Frater 
nity,  Dec.  G,  Id70. 


354  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

ance  of  a  man's  faculties  that  they  can  fill  a  larger  the* 
ater,  and  a  larger  term  than  nature  here  allows  him."  1 
He  finds  that  this  faith  rests  on  a  deep  trust  in  the  Uni 
versal  Spirit  alone,  on  the  conviction  that  nothing  can 
depart  from  its  relations  to  God.  In  writing  of  the 
power  and  influence  of  the  moral  sentiment,  how  it  ab 
sorbs  and  commands  every  other  purpose  and  desire,  he 
says  "  it  makes  no  stipulations  for  earthly  felicity  ;  does 
not  ask,  in  the  absoluteness  of  its  trust,  even  for  the  as 
surance  of  continued  life."  2  This  is  the  ground  of  Emer 
son's  trust,  faith  in  Spirit,  supreme  confidence  in  the  will 
of  God.  As  God  orders,  as  in  his  law  and  love  is  best, 
man  is  to  accept  his  destiny.  When  his  trust  is  strong 
enough,  when  he  sees  to  the  end  of  this  result,  he  will 
find  that  this  is  absolutely  the  best.  Emerson  has  faith 
in  the  individual  soul,  but  he  has  greater  faith  in  the  In 
finite  Goodness  which  surrounds  and  contains  all  things. 
He  adopts  Goethe's  idea,  however,  that,  "in  order  to 
manifest  ourselves  as  a  powerful  living  principle  in  -the 
future,  we  must  be  one ;  "  but  he  does  not  adopt  Goethe's 
other  opinion,  as  he  is  sometimes  supposed  to  do,  that 
"such  incomprehensible  subjects  lie  too  far  off,  and  only 
disturb  our  thoughts  if  made  the  theme  of  daily  medi 
tation."  "An  able  man,  says  Goethe,  who  has  some 
thing  to  do  here,  and  must  toil  and  strive  day  by  day 
to  accomplish  it,  leaves  the  future  world  till  it  comes, 
and  contents  himself  with  being  active  and  useful  in 
this."  Emerson  expresses  a  similar  opinion  in  his  essay 
on  Immortality,  but  in  a  quite  different  spirit  than 
Goethe's.  He  would  not  shun  the  subject  because  in 
different  to  it,  or  merely  because  it  is  incomprehensible, 
but  because  he  has  a  higher  ground  of  trust  than  his 
own  personal  future.  Immortality  is  to  him  not  a  thing 
of  time  or  place,  but  capacity  of  seul.  The  true  revela 
tion  is  in  the  soul,  in  its  ascent  to  the  sublimer  heights 
of  being,  and  not  in  words  that  satisfy  a  low  curiosity. 
When  we  accept  joyfully  the  tide  of  being  which  floats 
us  into  the  secrets  of  nature,  and  live  and  work  with 
her,  "all  unawares  the  ^advancing  soul  has  built  and 

1  Conduct  of  Life.  2  Character,  p.  373. 


CONCERNING   IMMORTALITY.  355 

forged  for  itself  a  new  condition,  and  the  question  and 
the  answer  are  one."  l  Emerson's  idea  is  that  of  Hegel, 
as  Rosenkranz  has  expressed  it  in  these  words  :  "  He 
remarks  that  immortality  is  a  quality  of  mind  which  is 
already  present,  and  need  not  first  be  mediated  by 
death.  It  is  among  the  most  unhappy  errors  of  man 
kind  that  they  have  expected  the  truth  of  spirit,  the 
so-called  eternal  life,  as  a  beyond,  or  something  which 
begins  with  death.  He  everywhere  says  that  we  are 
now  and  here  in  the  midst  of  the  absolute."2  Man's 
immortality  is  involved  in  the  infinity  and  eternity  of 
all  that  is  real  and  spiritual.  Emerson  accordingly 
assures  us  that  "  the  ground  of  hope  is  in  the  infinity 
of  the  world,  which  infinity  re-appears  in  every  parti 
cle."  "  Every  thing  is  prospective,  and  man  is  to  live 
hereafter.  That  the  world  is  for  his  education,  is  the 
only  sane  solution  of  the  enigma."  3  Trust  in  the  soul, 
as  an  eternal  life  in  God,  is  what  he  here  expresses. 
The  capacities  of  the  soul  affirm  the  inspirations  of 
affection  and  of  the  moral  sentiment.4  In  the  Threnody, 
which  commemorates  the  death  of  his  first  son,  he  has 
expressed  his  convictions  in  words  of  the  strongest 

"  Wilt  thou  not  ope  thy  heart  to  know 
What  rainbows  teach,  and  sunsets  show  ? 
Verdict  which  accumulates 
From  lengthening  scroll  of  human  fates, 
Voice  of  earth  to  earth  returned, 
Prayers  of  saints  that  inly  burned,  — 
Saying.  AYhat  is  excellent, 
As  God  lives,  is  permanent ; 
Hearts  are  dust,  hearts'  loves  remain ; 
Heart's  love  will  meet  thee  again." 

These  lines  are  expressive  enough  and  clear  enough  in 
their  meaning,  it  would  seem.  In  the  last  lines  of  the 
poem  he  returns  to  the  same  thought :  — 

"  House  and  tenant  go  to  ground. 
Lost  in  God,  in  Godhead  found." 

*  Essays,  first  series,  pp.  257-259. 

2  Hegel  as  the  National  Philosopher  of  Germany. 

*  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  pp.  298,  299. 

*  Society  and  Solitude,  p.  300. 


356  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

By  losing  life  we  find  it,  by  absolute  obedience  we  gain 
perfect  freedom,  by  absorption  into  God  we  gain  true 
personality.  Emerson  always  recognizes  these  antino 
mies  of  existence,  and  finds  in  immortality  a*  losing  of 
self  to  gain  a  higher  self. 

Elsewhere  he  has  expressed  himself  very  strongly,  as 
in  the  essay  on  The  Method  of  Nature.  There  he  says 
we  can  not  describe  the  natural  history  of  the  soul,  but 
we  know  it  is  divine.  We  do  not  know  if  the  qualities 
of  the  bodily  frame  have  been  together  before  ;  but  we 
do  know  the  qualities  of  the  soul  "  did  not  now  begin 
to  exist,  can,  not  be  sick  with  my  sickness,  nor  buried 
in  my  grave  ;  before  the  world  was  they  were."  1  When 
it  is  asked  whither,  we  come  and  where  we  are  bound, 
he  says  the  answer  can  .be  found  only  in  ourselves, 
in  those  intuitions  which  -open  to  us  the  world  of  truth. 
We  fancy  that  with  the  dust  we  depart,  and  are  not ; 
but  in  so  far  as  the  truth  enters  us,  we  are  immortal 
with  its  immortality.2  He  sees  the  significance  of  this 
belief ;  for  he  says  it  is  not  what  we  believe  concerning 
it,  but  the  universal  impulse  to  believe  that  is  the  material 
circumstance,  and  is  the  principaLfact  in  the  history  of 
the  globe.3  The  knowledge,  he  says,  that  we  traverse 
the  whole  scale  of  being,  from  the  center  to  the  poles 
of  nature,  through  the  power  of  thought,  and  have 
some  stake  in  every  possibility,  "  lends  that  sublime 
luster  to  death,  which  philosophy  and  religion  have  too 
outwardly  and  literally  striven  to  express  in  the  popular 
doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  The  reality 
is  more  excellent  than  the  report.  Here  is  no  ruin,  no 
discontinuity,  no  spent  ball."  4  This  trust  in  thought, 
in  mind,  is  all  the  promise  we  have ;  but  we  have  found 
in  our  experience  that  it  is  enough  to  cover  the  chasm 
of  death  with  flowers,  for  our  faculties  prophesy  for 
themselves  an  interminable  future  of  action.5  All  these 
questions  we  lust  to  ask  about  the  future,  are  a  confes 
sion  of  sin.  No  answer  in  words  can  reply  to  a  question 

i  Miscellanies,  p.  214.  2  Ibid.,  p.  279. 

s  Essays,  second  series,  p.  76.  4  Ibid.,  p.  189. 

5  Conduct  of  Life,  pp.  208,  209. 


CONCERNING   IMMORTALITY.  357 

of  things.  It  is  not  an  arbitrary  decree  of  God,  but  in 
the  nature  of  man,  that ja  veil  shuts  down  on  the  facts 
of  to-morrow ;  for  the  soul  will  not  have  us  read  any 
other  cipher  than  that  of  cause  and  effect.  By  this 
veil  which  curtains  events,  it  instructs  the  children  of 
men  to  live  in  to-day.  His  attitude  is  really  one_  of  ab- 
solutertrusi  in  Go3.  with  whom  he  leaves  all  me  result. 
The  life  we  nowJJYfi  ifi  fiQ  wondftrfnlj  so  anchored  in  the 
Divine,  we  need  take  no  thought  of  the  morrow.  The 
immortal  life  is  ours  now ;  why  worry  about  the  future  ! 
In  a  funeral  address  he  once  said,  — 

"  There  is  to  my  mind  something  so  absolute  in  the  action  of  a 
good  man,  that  we  do  not,  in  thinking  of  him,  so  much  as  make  any 
question  of  the  future.  For  the  spirit  of  the  universe  seems  to  say, 
He  has  done  well ;  is  not  that  saying  all?  "  * 

His  trust  in  the  soul  appears  in  words  like  these :  — 

"A  man  who  has -read  the  works  of  Plato  and  Plutarch  and 
Seneca  and  Kant  and  Shakspere  and  Wordsworth,  would  scorn  to 
ask  such  school-dame  questions  as  whether  we  shall  know  each  other 
in  the  world  beyond  the  grave.  Men  of  genius  do  not  fear  to  die ; 
they  are  sure  that  in  the  other  life  they  will  be  permitted  to  finish 
the  work  begun  in  this ;  it  is  only  mere  men  of  affairs  who  tremble 
at  the  approach  of  death."2 

With  him  the  belief  in  immortality  is  involved  in  his 
faith  in  the  soul,  which  is  so  absolute  as  to  make  all 
questions  of  duration  and  residence  of  little  moment. 
No  one  could  ask,  Is  God  immortal?  With  Emerson's 
trust  in  the  soul,  it  would  be  as  idle  to  ask  concerning 
it  the  same  question.  His  thought  comes  out  in  such 
passages  as  this  :  — 

"  Our  dissatisfaction  with  the  materialist  statement,  in  whatever 
form  it  comes,  is  a  blazing  evidence  of  tendency.  The  soul  does 
not  age  with  the  body.  On  the  borders  of  the  grave  the  wise  man 
looks  forward  with  equal  elasticity  of  mind  and  hope;  and  why  not 
after  millions  of  years  on  the  verge  of  still  newer  existence  ?  for  it 
is  the  nature  of  intelligent  beings  to  be  for  ever  new  to  life."  £ 

1  At  the  funeral  of  George  L.  Stearns,  Medford,  April  14,  1*67. 

2  This  is  from  a  newspaper  report  of  a  lecture  on  the  Relation  of 
Intellect  to  Morals,  delivered  in  Boston,  in  I860,  in  a  course  of  six  on 
The  Philosophy  of  the  People. 

3  From  a  newspaper  report  of  the  lecture  on  Immortality,  as  given 
before  the  Parko.r  Fraternity,  Dec.  4,  1870. 


358  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

The  same  thought  was  once  expressed  by  him  in  a 
conversation,  when  he  uttered  this  most  suggestive  sen 
tence  :  "  There  is  hope  of  a  world  in  which  we  may  see 
things  but  once,  and  then  pass  on  to  something  new."  1 
Here  is  his  faith,  in  the  soul  as  one  with  the  infinite 
Over-soul,  and  sharing  in  all  that  God  is ;  and  in  a  life 
of  unending  search  and  attainment,  of  aspiration  and 
fulfillment,  that  can  not  be  measured  by  time.  Though 
he  himself  refrains  from  every  attempt  to  put  into 
mortal  words  these  immortal  things,  for  they  can  be 
declared  no  more  than  the  roses'  bloom  and  fragrance 
can  be  expressed,  yet  whoever  has  genuinely  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  his  words  will  surely  have  found 
these  things  there.  They  furnish  the  very  spirit  which 
animates  all  his  most  inspired  and  inspiring  essays. 

1  To  a  friend,  after  he  had  delivered  the  lecture  on  Immortality  in 
San  Francisco. 


THE  RELIGION  OF   THE   SOUL.  359 


XXVI. 

THE  RELIGION   OF   THE   SOUL. 

"THMERSON'S  philosophic  conception  of  intuition  de- 
•f-U  termines  his  attitude  towards  every  religious  prob 
lem.  When  he  says  that  all  writing  comes  by  the  grace 
of  God,  and  air  aping  ana  having,1  he' expresses  the 
central  idea  embodied  in  his  essays.  Religion  is,  there 
fore,  for  him  the  inward  attraction  of  the  soul  for  the 
Universal  Spirit,  alike  a  motive  and  a  law  of  life,  an 
impulse,  towards  trnth,  a  temper  and  a  spirit  of  trust 
and  obedience.  It  is -a  motive,  and  not_a  creed;  an  at 
traction  for  truth,  and  not  a  church.  Its  attractions 
and  its  truths  are  too  vast  for  absolute  statement ; Jtijs 
a  life,  and  not  a  dogma.  He  will  not?  therefore,  attempt 
t<> define  the  spiritual  laws  ;  lie  will  set  no  limits  to  their 
opera tiorT in  jiis  own  tnougbt.  Conseqnejatly  no  reli 
gious  writer  dogmatizes  less,  or  has  less  of  definition. 
He  shuns  expression  on  the  great  religious  problems, 
God  and  immortality,  not  because  he  in  any  sense 
doubts,  but  because  he  believes  so  much.  Because  no 
definition  Js  adequate  to  these  great  thoughts.  He 
must  nofte"  judged  as  a"ilieologiah  f  lie  has  no  capacity 
for  logical  statement  and  rigid  abstraction.2  He  is  a 
Fox,  an  a  Kempis,  or  a  Fenelon,  a  spiritual  poet,  a  seer, 
a  prophet.  He  would  lead  men  to  the  truth,  and  not 
de|mejj^J&M?-^hem.  ITeTwrrald  malic  the  -spiritual  reali 
ties  conscious  facts  to  each  mind,  and  not  set  them  to 

1  Essays,  second  series,  p.  71. 

2  Among  those  who  have  criticised  Emerson's  religious  views  are 
Dr.  Manning,  in  his  Half-Truths  and  the  Truth;  Joseph  Cook,  in  sev 
eral  of  his  published  lectures;  and  James  Freeman  Clarke,  in  a  lecture 
delivered  in.  18(55.     The  last  is  the  only  one  of  these  critics  who  has 
shown  himself  acquainted  with  Emerson's  philosophy,  or  who  has  done 
justice  to  his  religious  views.     One  of    the  best  of  his  sympathetic 
expounders  is  Crozier,  in  his  Religion  of  the  Future 


360  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

words  to  be  chanted  on  Sunday.  He  has  spoken  of  the 
great  truths  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  nature,  out  of 
the  soul's  depths,  direct  to>the  heart  and  mind  of  other 
men.  Tf  here  has  been  no  attempt  to  justify  these  truths ; 
no  logic,*  argument,  reasons.  He  has  announced  them 
as  the  scientist  does  the  laws  of  nature,  declaring  they 
prove  themselves  true  in  the  experience  of  each  soul, 
and  of  all  mankind. 

He  has  been  a  severe  critic  of  the  historic  forms  of 
religion,  but  his  real  attitude  toward  all  that  is  genuine 
has  been  one  of  affirmation.  More  than  once  has  he 
said,  — 

"  Speak  the  affirmative ;  emphasize  your  choice  by  utter  ignoring 
of  all  that  you  reject,  seeing  that  opinions  are  temporary,  but  con 
victions  uniform  and  eternal,  —  seeing  that  a  sentiment  'never  loses 
its  pathos  or  its  persuasion,  but  is  youthful  after  a  thousand  years." l 

He  sees  so  much  truth  in  which  all  men  can  unite,  he 
would  have  all  which  divides  them  forgotten.  As  it  is, 
in  his  opinion,  the  non-essential,  the  mere  outward  form, 
which  divides  them,  he  would  have  all  emphasis  re 
moved  from  it.  So  he  pours  forth  h^s  rich  counsel  of 
charity  and  liberality,  in  favor  of  unity  and  against  di 
vision.  It  is  not  because  he  lacks  in  conviction,  or 
because  he  thinks,  one  statement  as  good  as  another, 
that  he  takes  this  position ;  but  because  the  truth  rises 
sublimely  above  all  sects  and  parties  to  assert  itself  in 
the  hearts  of  all  men. 

"  Be  not  betrayed,  he  urges,  into  undervaluing  the  churches 
which  annoy  you  by  their  bigoted  claims.  They,  too,  were  real 
churches.  They  answered  to  their  times  the  same  need  as  your 
rejection  of  them  does  to  yours.  I  agree  with  them  more  than  I 
disagree.  I  agree  with  their  heart  and  motive ;  my  discontent  is 
wiih  their  limitations  and  surface  and  language.  Their  statement 
is  grown  as  fabulous  as  Dante's  Inferno.  Their  purpose  is  as  real 
as  Dante's  sentiment,  and  hatred  of  vice.  Always  put  the  best  in 
terpretation  on  a  tenet.  Why  not  on  Christianity,  wholesome, 
jsv/e^t,  and  poetic?  It  is  the  record  of  a  pure  and  holy  soul,  humble, 
absolutely  disinterested,  a  truth-speaker,  and  bent  on  serving, 
teaching,  and  uplifting  men.  Christianity  taught  the  capacity,  the 

1  The  Preacher,  p.  14. 


THE   RELIGION   OF  THE   SOUL.        .  361 

element,  to  love  the  All-perfect  without  a  stingy  bargain  for  per 
sonal  happiness.  It  taught  that  to  love  him  was  happiness, — to 
love  him  in  other's  virtues."1 

To  class  Emerson  as  a  champion  of  any  party  in  reli 
gion  would  be  unjust.  No  man  has  deeper  convictions 
than  he,  but  he  does  not  hold  them  as  by  the  charm  of 
any  sectarian  name.  He  sees  on  all  sides,  respects  the 
truthful  in  all  sects,  loves  the  good  in  all  religions. 
He  is  not  even  a  Christian  in  any  party  sense  whatever, 
nor  by  any  means  a  rejecter  of  Christianity,  much  less 
its  foe.  '  He  sees  the  good  in  it,  recognizes  its  great  ser 
vice  in  the  inculcation  of  a  pure,. spiritual  religion  and 
a  noble  morality,  loves  its  lofty  spirit  of  truth  and  devo 
tion  ;  but  he  is  not  carried  away  by  it,  will' not  accept 
its  dictation,  or  be  committed  to  its  defense.  He  is  not 
a  system-builder,  finds  little  interest  in  the  problems 
which  divide  sects  and  religions  from  each  other.  A 
theological  student  from  Harvard  once  went  to  him 
with  an  account  of  the  differences  of  opinion  there 
among  the  Unitarian  divinity  students.  "  I  am  not  much 
interested  in  these  discussions,  said  he  ;  but  still,  it  does 
seem  deplorable  that  there  is  such  a  tendency  in  some 
people  to  creeds  which  would  take  man  back  to  the 
chimpanzee.  I  have  very  good  grounds  for  being  a 
Unitarian,  and  a  Trinitarian  too.  I  need  not  nibble  for 
ever  at  qne  loaf,  but  eat  it,  and  thank  God  for  it,  and 
earn  another."  2  In  the  same  spirit,  he  expressed  him 
self  toward  the  larger  question  of  the  relations  of  sys 
tems  of  thought  to  each  other,  when  he  said,  u  I  see  no 
objection  to  being  called  a  Platonist,  a  Christian,  or  any 
other  affirmative  name,  —  and  no  good  in  negation." 
This  attitude  towards  religion  is  characteristic  of  Les- 
sing,  Herder,  Goethe,  and  Cartyle.  Lessing's  Nathan 
the  }^ise  was  a  great  lesson  in  comparative  religions, 
showing  that  the  essence  of  £-11  faiths  is  the  same.  In 
the  second  part  of  his  Wilhelm  Meixter,  Goethe  goes 
even  farther,  when  he  writes  of.  the  three  reverences, 
and  recognizes  the  spirit  of  worship  instead  of  the  his 
tory  of  religion.  Even  Schleiermacher  rejected  the 

*  The  Preacher,  p,  9.  2  Fraser's  Magazine,  August,  1864. 


362  EALPH    WALDO    EMEKSON. 

historic,  and  found  Christianity,  not  in  literary  records, 
but  in  the  attainment  of  freedom  by  the  soul;  and 
Hegel  made  this  thought  the  basis  of  his  philosophy  of 
history.  Herder  went  so  far  as  to  ask  if  Christianity 
would  not  pass  away,  as  other  historic  religions  have 
done,  and  a  higher  form  of  faith  succeed  to  it.  Though 
Carlyle  praised  Christianity  as  the  religion  of  sorrow 
and  self-renunciation,  yet  he  did  it  in  a  spirit  which 
showed  how  little  he  cared  for  the  outward  forms.  He 
saw  in  religion,  not  a  church,  -not  an  historic  faith,  but 
the  union  of  the  soul  with  God  through  intuition, 
which  is  possible  to  all  men,  and  whieh  annuls  and  con 
demns  every  other  worship, 

The  nearness  of  God,  the  sacredness  of  the  divine 
laws,  the  over-arching  presence  of  the  spiritual  world, 
the  sublimity  and  awful  sanctity  of  those  hours  when 
the  soul  is  filled  with  the  divine  spirit,  the  authority 
of  the  religious  sentiment  and  the  conscience,  —  these 
convictions  unite  Emerson  to  the  world's  great  religious 
teachers.  These  truths  he  finds  to  be  perfectly  natural 
to  man  ;  they  find  their  authority  in  the  relations  of 
man  to  the  Cosmos.  He  finds  in  Christianity  their 
truest  and  most  spiritual  expression  ;  and  hence  he 
loves  its  teachings,  accepts  its  spirit,  rejoices  in  its 
moral  conquests.  When  it  attempts  to  make  these 
sentiments  synonymous  with  a  person,  book,  or  history, 
he  repudiates  its  teaching,  and  rejects  its  influence  as 
pernicious.  H&jj;Qh 
ance  of  those  great  trut 
have  given  Christianity  its  influence  in  the  world  ;  but 
all  that  is  special,  supernatural,  authoritative,  he 
rejects.  The  soul  is  its  own  authority,  all  worlds  are 
one,  the  same  religious  sentiments  and  truths  appear 
under  whatever  garb  of  sect.  He  loves  the  Christian 
spirit  when  genuinely  manifested,  as  a  profound  convic 
tion  and  sense  of  spiritual  realities,  as  a  high,  command 
ing  enthusiasm  for  what  is  right  and  holy;  but  all  there 
is  in  it  worthy  of  notice  and  respect  comes  from  a  uni 
versal  religious  sentiment.  It  has  no  power  in  and  of 
itself,  as  an  historic  mode  of  worship,  to  charm  and 
inspire  the  soul  of  man. 


his  accept 
hs   of  the  spiritual   life  which 


THE   KELIGION   OF   THE    SOUL.  363 

The  old  enthusiasm  of  faith,  the  old  consecration  to 
truth,  the  old  profound  conviction  of  the  nearness  of 
God  and  of  the  sacredness  of  the  inward  law  of  the 
soul,  Emerson  would  have  reproduced.  That  enthu 
siasm  which  makes  martyrs,  which  weds  men  for  ever  to 
great  truths,  which  makes  all  things  else  undesirable 
compared  with  devotion  to  the  will  of  God,  he  believes 
in,  and  thinks  necessary  to  the  best  life.  He  is  himself 
an  enthusiast  of  this  kind,  though  lie  carefully  sup- 

Eresses  mere  feeling  as  unworthy  and  misleading,  and 
)oks  at  all  things  through  the  intellect.  Mere  faith, 
with  Jacobi,  or  feeling,  with  Schleiermacher,  he  is  not 
content  with ;  for  his  intellectual  convictions  must  also 
be  satisfied..  He  has  refused  to  define  or  limit  the 
spiritual,  and  yet  he  has  never  made  it  merely  a  feeling 
or  an  ecstasy.  He  is  a  mystic  who  is  calmly  intellec 
tual,  a  thinker  who  refuses  to  'apply  the  measuring  rod 
of  reason  to  the  soul,  a  tlieist  who  is  unable  to  find 
limits  to  the  being  of  God,  a  Christian  who  refuses  to 
accept  any  historic  form  or  name.  He  refuses  ,to  be 
classified,  for  the-  truth  appear^  under  all  disguises. 
His  is  the  religion  of  the  soul,  whose  forms  and  ser 
vice  and  book  and  messiah  are  to  be  found  alone  in 
the  active,  aspiring  mind/ 

The  fact  that  Emerson  early  withdrew  from  the 
church,  and  that  he  has  gradually  abandoned  the  out 
ward  observances  of  religion,  has  led  many  to  regard 
him  as  a  skeptic,  or  in  some  way  as  a  disbeliever.  It 
was  not  from  any  doubts,  however,  about  spiritual 
truths,  that  caused  him  to  abandon  religious  forms  and 
to  reject  the  historic  faith  of  his  time.1  It  was  an 

1  The  following  letter  concerning  Emerson's  religions  position  was 
written  by  his  son  to  a  gentleman  in  Indianapolis,  in  1880,  and  may  be 
regarded  as  authoritative:  — 

COUCORD,  Feb.  17. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Some  weeks  ago  my  father  received  a  letter  from  you  inquiring  if 
a  statement  made  to  you  by  a  friend  in  Boston  with  regard  to  him  was  true.  The 
statement  was,  that,  under  the  influence  of  Rev.  Joseph  Cook,  he  had  changed  hia 
religious  beliefs,  and  accepted  the  doctrines  of  the  Orthodox  Congregational ists. 
My  father  receives  many  letters,  but  now  very  seldom  writes  one. 

More  than  once  before  letters  have  been  received  by  him  from  persons  in  the 
West  asking  almost  the  same  question  that  you  ask,  one  gentleman  stating,  that  at 
Minneapolis  Rev.  Joseph  Cook  had  stated  in  a  public  lecture  that  Mr.  Emerson  and 
Mr.  Alcott  had  publicly  renounced  their  early  religious  beliefs,  accepted  Jesus  as 
the.ir  Saviour,  the  Bible  as  divine,  and  joined  the  Orthodoj  church.  Paragraphs  have 


364  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

excess  of  faith  in  spiritual  truths  which  made  him  a 
skeptic  towards  all  that  is  outward  and  formal.  His 
skepticism  is  that  of  the  mystic,  not  that  of  the 
materialist  or  agnostic.  He  has  not  rejected  the  truths 
of  religion,  but  he  has  rejected  the  dogmas  and  the  his 
toric  claims  of  Christianity.  In  abandoning  formal 
prayer,  he  did  not  cease  to  believe  in  prayer  as  com 
munion  with  God,  or  in  man's  need  of  divine  guidance. 
In  fact,  he  has  been  intoxicated  with  the  things  of  the 
soul ;  and  he  has  lived  in  the  highest  atmosphere  of 
faith  and  devotion. 

Wherever  the  doctrine  of  intuition  has  been  fully 
accepted,  trust  in  the  outward  matters  of  religion  has 
died  out.  IQaQiLdirectly  reveals  hiraself  to  the  soul, 
there  is  DO  np.ftd  of  rWHing  jrph".  AT*  *f  attending 
church,  or  of  accepting  sacraments.  Fox  abolished 
sacraments  and  forms,  he  'repudiated  the  priest  and 
minister  ;  the  Light  was  enough.  The  Sufis  believe 
that  God  opens  his  truth  to  them  in  feeling,  so  they 
reject  all  books  and  religions.  One  of  their  poets  says, 
"  What  is  the  Kaaba  to  me  ?  I  need  God  only."  They 
describe  themselves,  much  in  the  spirit  of  Emerson,  as 

"  Owning  nor  book  nor  master  ;  and  on  earth 
Having  one  sole  and  simple  task,  —  to  make 
Their  hearts  a  stainless  mirror  for  their  God." 

Jelaleddin  Rumi  gives  expression  to  this  idea  in  a  mau- 

lately  appeared  in  the  newspapers  stating  essentially  the  same  thing.  Therefore,  it 
seems  to  me  fair  that  persons  who  have  been,  perhaps,  led  out  of  the  old  paths  by 
Mr.  Emerson's  teachings,  and  are  now  told  that  ho  has  admitted  that  he  went  astray, 
and  has  returned  to  even  a  stricter  fold  than  that  from  which  he  went  forth,  should 
know  the  truth.  I  therefore  asked  and  received  leave  from  my  father  to  answer 
your  note. 

The  statement  is,  in  every  respect,  incorrect.  Mr.  Emerson  is  acquainted  with 
Rev.  Mr.  Cook,  who  has  called  upon  him,  when  he  has  exchanged  with  the  Orthodox 
clergyman  of  Concord ;  and,  by  invitation  of  the  latter  gentleman,  Mr.  Emerson  went 
on  one  or  two  occasions,  several  years  since,  to  hear  Mr.  Cook  preach  in  this  town. 
Except  on  these  occasions  Mr.  Emerson  has  never  had  any  relations  with  Mr.  Cook. 
He  never  reads  his  lectures.  He  has  not  joined  any  church,  nor  has  he  re  traded 
any  views  expressed  in  his  writings  after  his  withdrawal  from  the  ministry.  His 
last  words  given  to  the  public  on  matters  of  morals  and  religion  may  be  found  in  his 
paper  in  The  North  American  Review  for  June,  1878,  on  the  Sovereignty  of  Ethics, 
and  in  his  lecture  entitled  The  Preacher,  delivered  to  the  divinity  stmdents  at  Har 
vard  University  less  than  a  year  ago,  and  now  printed  in  the  Unitarian  Review  for 
January,  1880. 

Mr.  Emerson's  friends  and  readers  can  judge  for  themselves  whether  these 
papers  confirm  the  truth  of  the  tale  that  is  going  about  as  to  his  conversion  to 
Orthodoxy.  Truly  yours, 

EDWARD  WALDO  EMJBBSON 


THE   RELIGION   OF   THE   SOUL.  365 

n3r  quite  parallel  to  that  in  wliicli  Emerson  constantly 
uses  it. 

"  He  needs  a  guide  no  longer  who  hath  found 
The  way  already  leading  to  the  Friend. 
Who  stands  already  on  heaven's  topmost  dome 
Needs  not  to  search  for  ladders.     He  that  lies, 
Folded  in  favor,  on  the  Sultan's  breast,  * 
Needs  not  the  letter  or  the  messenger." 

Hafiz  says  "the  object  of  all  religions  is  alike.  All 
men  seek  their  beloved,  and  all  the  world  is  love's 
dwelling ;  why  talk  of  a  mosque  or  a  church  ? "  In 
the  Hindoo  Vemana  is  to  be  found  the  same  thought, 
in  words  which  might  have  been  taken  from  almost  any 
.of  Emerson's  essays :  "  God  dwells  in  all  things  in  his 
.fullness.  All  worship  is  one ;  systems  of  faith  are  dif 
ferent,  but  God  is  one."  Many  of  the  mystics  are  of 
this  opinion.  Boehme  holds  all  means  and  ordinances 
valueless  but  as  preparations  for  receiving  the  divine 
operation  within,  which  leads  us  directly  to  God. 
Luther  said  of  a  religious  thinker  of  his  time,  that  he 
was  "  one  of  those  for  whom  nothing  will  do  but  spirit  I 
spirit!  and  not  a  word  of  scripture  or  sacrament." 
Weigel,  one  of  the  men  from  whom  Jacob  Boehme 
received  his  initiation  into  mysticism,  declared  the 
schools  of  his  time  utterly  barren ;  and  equally  barren 
did  he  find  all  religious  forms,  creeds,  and  teaching. 
Weigel  bade  Boehme  "withdraw  into  himself,  and 
wait,  in  total  passivity,  the  incoming  of  the  divine  word, 
whose  light  reveals  unto  the  babe  what  is  hidden  from 
the  wise  and  prudent."  Many  other  mystics  and  ideal 
ists  have  had  the  same  conception  of  religion,  the  same 
distrust  of  its  outward  forms.  It  led  Coleridge  to  write 
his  Confessions  of  an  Inquiring  Spirit,  in  which  he  deals 
freely  with  the  Bible.  The  same  spirit  of  freedom 
towards  the  outward  matters  of  religion  appears  in  the 
writings  of  Theodore  Parker  and  Frances  Power  Cobbe, 
who  stand  on  the  same  ground  as  that  held  in  common 
by  Boehifie,  Fox,  and  Emerson.  In  the  name  of  the 
spirit  within,  all  have  freely  criticised  the  outward 
expressions  of  religion. 


366  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

Emerson  would  Lave -no  mediators  of  any  sort  what 
ever  between  God  and  the  so  id.  Each  person  may  have 
within  him  all  the  light  he  needs,  all  the  truth  he  can 
acquire ;  and  he  never  permits  any  great  man  or  any 
famous  book  to  usurp  the  place  of  that  light  for  a  mo 
ment.  So  he  says,  — 

"  The  relations  of  the  soul  to  the  divine  spirit  are  so  pure,  that  it 
is  profane  to  seek  to  interpose  helps.  It  must  be  that  when  God 
speaketli  he  should  communicate,  not  one  thing,  but  all  things ; 
should  fill  the  world  with  his  voice;  should  scatter  forth  light, 
nature,  time,  souls  from  the  center  of  the  present  thought ;  and 
new  date  and  new  create  the  whole.  Whenever  a  mind  is  simple, 
and  receives  a  divine  wisdom,  old  things  pass  away,  —  means, 
teachers,  texts,  temples,  fall ;  it  lives  now,  and  absorbs  past  and 
future  into  the  present  hour.  All  things  are  made  sacred  by  re 
lation  to  it,  —  one  as  much  as  another.  All  things  are  dissolved  to 
their  center  by  their  cause  ;  and,  in  the  universal  miracle,  petty  and 
particular  miracles  disappear.  If,  therefore,  a  man  claims  to  know 
and  speak  of  God,  and  carries  you  backward  to  the  phraseology  of 
some  old  moldered  nation  in  another  country,  in  another  world, 
believe  him  not."  l 

Because  his  faith  in  the  soul  never  wavers,  he  will 
have  naught  to  do  with  any  thing  which  assumes  to  take- 
its  place.  In  the  soul  there  is  a  constant  Thus  saith  the 
Lord;  and  this  alone  is  to  be  obeyed.  God  speaks 
within,  giving  assurance,  courage,  and  peace ;  and  this 
trust  is  sublime,  all-absorbing,  wonderful.  It  is  the 
one  power  of  the  world  that  has  made  man  whatever 
he  is.  Without  it  he  is  nothing ;  with  it  he  can  be  and 
do  all  things. 

Men  make  dogmas  of  the  intuitions  they  receive,  an<i 
sligion  is  "norriTptpd  in  cuiisfecjue'nce..  "  All  positive 
ules,  ceremonial,  ecclesiastical,  distinctions  of  race  or 
of  person,  are  perishable ;  only  those  distinctions  hold 
which  are,  in  the  nature  of  things,  not  matters  of  positive 
ordinance."  2  The  creeds  and  the  rituals  perish  because 
they  are  not  rooted  in  any  actual  truth ;  but  in  their  de 
struction  religion  thrives,  and  grows  to  nobler  results. 
"  God  builds  his  temple  in  the  heart,  on  the  ruins  of 
churches  and  religions."  3  Yet  all  attempts  to  embody 

1  Essays,  first  series,  p.  57.  2  The  Preacher,  p.  8. 

a  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  178. 


/^ 

x  reli 

ml, 


THE   RELIGION   OF   THE   SOUL.  367 

religion  in  creed  and  ritual  affirm  the  need  of  spiritual 
truth  and  the  greatness  of  the  soul's  testimony.  "  The 
multitude  of  false  churches  accredits  the  true  religion."  l 
Though  false  now,  all  were  once  true,  and  testify,  in  the 
devotion  they  inspire,  to  the  worth  of  that  sentiment  out 
of  which  they  grew. 

"  The  sentiment,  of  course,  is  the  judge  and  measure  of  every  ex 
pression  of  it,  —  measures  Judaism,  Stoicism,  Christianity,  Buddh 
ism,  or  whatever  philanthropy  or  politics  or  saint  or  seer  pretends 
to  speak  in  its  name.  The  religions  we  call  false,  were  once  true ; 
they  also  were  affirmations  of  the  conscience  correcting  the  evil 
customs  of  their  times.  The  populace  drag  down  the  gods  to  their 
own  level,  and  give  them  their  egotism ;  whilst  in  Nature  is  none  at 
all,  God  keeping  out  of  sight,  and  known  only  as  pure  law,  though 
resistless.  Every  nation  is  degraded  by  the  goblins  it  worships 
instead  of  the  Deity.  The  Dionysia  and  Saturnalia  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  the  human  sacrifice  of  the  Druids,  the  Sradda  of  Hindoos, 
the  Purgatory,  the  Indulgences,  and  the  Inquisition  of  Popery,  the 
vindictive  mythology  of  Calvinism,  are  examples  of  this  perver 
sion." 

On  the  same  theme  he  further  writes :  — 

"  Every  particular  instruction  is  speedily  embodied  in  a  ritual,  is 
accommodated  to  humble  and  gross  minds,  and  corrupted.  The 
moral  sentiment  is  the  perpetual  critic  on  these  forms ;  thundering 
its  protest,  sometimes  in  earnest  and  lofty  rebuke,  but  sometimes 
also  it  is  the  source,  in  natures  less  pure,  of  sneers  and  flippant 
jokes  of  common  people,  who  feel  that  the  forms  and  dogmas  are 
not  true  for  them,  though  they  do  not  see  where  the  error  lies."2 

He  writes  with  the  most  unsparing  words  of  the  de 
fects  of  religion,  resulting  from  these  attempts  to  embody 
the  moral  sentiment  in  historical  faiths  :  — 

"  I  fear,  he  says,  that  what  is  called  religion,  but  is  perhaps 
pew-holding,  not  obeys,  but  conceals,  the  moral  sentiment.  I  put  it 
to  this  simple  test :  Is  a  rich  rogue  made  to  feel  his  roguery  among 
divines  or  literary  men  ?  No  ?  Then  'tis  rogue  again  under  the 
cassock.  What  sort  of  respect  can  these  preachers  or  newspapers 
inspire  by  their  weekly  praises  of  texts  and  saints,  when  we  know 
they  would  say  just  the  same  things  if  Beelzebub  had  written  the 
chapter,  provided  it  stood  where  it  does  in  the  public  opinion  V 

"  Any  thing  but  unbelief,  any  thing  but  losing  hold  of  the  moral 
intuitioiisras  betrayed  in  clinging  to  a  form  of  devotion,  or  a  theo 
logical  dogma,  as  if  it  was  the  liturgy  or  the  chapel  that  was 

1  Essays,  secoud  series,  p.  173.  2  Character,  p.  363. 


368  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

sacred,  and  not  justice  and  humility,  and  the  loving  heart  and  serv 
ing  hand."  1 

Because  the  spirit  of  religion  is  ever  the  same,  though 
its  forms  change,  the  old  faiths  become  myths  to  us ; 
but  in  our  time  we  are  coming  more  and  more  to  ac 
cept  the  inward  sentiment,  and  to  repudiate  the  historic 
form. 

"  The  religion  of  one  age  is  the  literary  entertainment  of  the 
next.  We  use  in  our  idlest  poetry  and  discourse  the  words  Jove, 
Neptune,  Mercury,  as  mere  colors,  and  can  hardly  believe  that  they 
had  to  the  lively  Greek  the  anxious  meaning,  which,  in  our  towns, 
is  given  and  received  in  churches  when  our  religious  names  are 
used  ;  and  we  read  with  surprise  the  horror  of  Athens,  when,  one 
morning,  the  statues  of  Mercury,  in  the  temples,  were  found  broken, 
and  the  like  consternation  was  in  the  city,  as  if,  in  Boston,  all  the 
orthodox  churches  should  be  burned  in  one  night." 

"  The  changes  are  inevitable  ;  the  new  age  can  not  see  with  the 
eyes  of  the  last.  But  the  change  is  in  what  is  superficial ;  the  prin 
ciples  are  immortal,  and  the  rally  on  the  principle  must  arrive  as 
people  become  intellectual.  I  consider  theology  to  be  the  rhetoric 
of  morals.  The  mind  of  this  age  has  fallen  away  from  theology  to 
morals.  I  conceive  it  an  advance.  I  suspect,  that,  when  the  the 
ology  was  most  florid  and  dogmatic,  it  ^was  the  barbarism  of  the 
people ;  and  that,  in  that  very  time,  the  best  men  also  fell  away  from 
theology,  and  rested  in  morals.  I  think  that  all  the  dogmas  rest 
on  morals,  and  that  it  is  only  a  question  of  youth  or  maturity,  of 
more  or  less  fancy  in  the  recipient ;  that  the  stern  determination  to 
do  justly,  to  speak  the  truth,  to  be  chaste  and  humble,  was  substan 
tially  the  same,  whether  under  a  self-respect,  or  under  a  vow  made 
on  the  knees  at  the  shrine  of  Madonna."2 

Emerson's  thoroughly  undogmatic  attitude  towards 
all  religious  questions  is  abundantly  shown  in  his  criti 
cism  of  the  religious  life  of  the  present  time.  He  finds 
it  ungirt,  frivolous,  lacking  in  a  deep  sense  of  spiritual 
things,  unmindful  of  the  constant  presence  of  the 
Divine.  He  has  repeatedly  declared  his  sympathy  with 
those  former  phases  of  religious  thought  which  absorbed 
men  in  the  sense  of  the  supernatural.  It  is  the  historic 
forms,  the  party  dogmas,  he  distrusts,  towards  which  he 
is  a  skeptic.  His  sympathies  with  the  great  religious 
thinkers  and  seers,  and  with  all  those  ages  which  "have 
been  moved  by  deep  and  profound  religious  convic- 

1  The  Preacher,  p.  10.  2  Character,  pp.  363,  3C5. 


THE   RELIGION   OF  THE   SOUL.  369 

tions,  show  how  really  religious  he  is.  Plis  mind  is 
intoxicated  with  the  sense  of  God,  absorbed  in  the 
things  of  the  soul.  In  the  critical,  skeptical  tendencies 
of  the  present  he  finds  a  "  withering  "  effect,  and  that, 
though  the  understanding  is  active,  the  sentiments 
sleep.  Their  effect  on  the  minds  of  most  persons,  he 
has  described  in  these  words  :  — 

"  I  see  in  them  character,  but  skepticism ;  a  clear  enough  per 
ception  of  the  inadequacy  of  the  popular  religious  statement  to 
the  wants  of  the  heart  and  intellect,  and  explicit  declarations  of 
this  fact.  They  have  insight  and  truthfulness ;  they  will  i  ot 
mask  their  convictions ;  they  hate  cant ;  but  more  than  this  I  do 
not  readily  find.  The  gracious  motions  of  the  soul  —  piety,  adora 
tion  —  I  do  not  find.  Scorn  of  hypocrisy,  pride  of  personal  char 
acter,  elegance  of  taste  and  of  manners  and  pursuit,  a  boundless 
ambition  of  the  intellect,  willingness  to  sacrifice  personal  interests 
for  the  integrity  of  the  character,  —  all  these  they  have ;  but  that 
religious  submission  and  abandonment  which  give  man  a  new 
element  and  being,  and  make  him  sublime,  —  it  is  not  in  churches, 
it  is  not  in  houses.  I  see  movement,  I  hear  aspirations ;  but  I  see 
not  how  the  great  God  prepares  to  satisfy  the  heart  in  the  new 
order  of  things."  l 

Again  and  again  has  he  expressed  his  sense  of  the 
inadequacy  of  the  religious  culture  of  the  present  time, 
and  pronounced  it  cold,  lifeless,  and  unworthy.  One 
more  example  will  suffice. 

"  The  religion  of  seventy  years  ago  was  an  iron  belt  to  the 
mind,  giving  it  concentration  and  force.  A  rude  people  were  kept 
respectable  by  the  determination  of  thought  on  the  eternal  world. 
Now  men  fall  abroad,  —  \vant  polarity,  —  suffer  in  character  and 
intellect.  A  sleep  creeps  over  the  great  functions  of  man. 
Enthusiasm  goes  out.  In  its  stead  a  low  prudence  seeks  to  hold 
society  stanch,  but  its  arms  are  too  short ;  cordage  and  machinery 
never  supply  the  place  of  life. 

"  I  will  not  go  into  the  metaphysics  of  that  re-action  by  which 
wit  takes  the  place  of  faith  in  the  leading  spirits,  and  an  excessive 
respect  for  forms  out  of  which  the  heart  has  departed  becomes 
mofet  obvious  in  the  least  religious  minds.  To  a  self-denying, 
ardent  church,  delighting  in  rites  and  ordinances,  has  succeeded  a 
cold,  intellectual  race,  who  analyze  the  prayer  and  psalm  of  their 
forefathers  ;  and  the  more  intellectual  reject  every  yoke  of  author 
ity  and  custom  with  a  petulance  unprecedented.  It  is  a  sort  of 
mark  of  probity  and  sincerity  to  declare  how  little  you  believe ; 

i  The  Preacher,  p.  4. 


370  RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

while  the  mass  of  the  community  indolently  follow  the  old  forma 
with  childish  scrupulosity,  and  we  have  punctuality  for  faith,  and 
good  taste  for  character."  * 

When  Emerson  comes  to  deal  with  the  central  doc 
trine  of  Christianity,  he  rejects  it  in  the  name  of  the 
soul.  He  sees  no  need  of  a  messiah  who  has  a  per 
petual  mediator  in  his  own  intuitions.  Emerson  finds 
in  Jesus  a  person  of  wonderful  intuitions  and  great 
depth  of  soul,  such  a  person  as  may  appear  in  any  land 
or  time. 

"  Men  appear  from  time  to  time,  he  says,  who  receive  with  more 
purity  and  fullness  these  high  communications.  But  it  is  only  as 
fast  as  this  hearing  from  another  is  authorized  by  its  consent  with 
his  own,  that  it  is  pure  and  safe  to  each ;  and  all  receiving  from 
abroad  must  be  controlled  by  this  immense  reservation. 

••  It  happens  now  and  then,  in  the  ages,  that  a  soul  is  born 
which  has  no  weakness  of"  self,  —  which  offers  no  impediment  to 
the  Divine  Spirit.  —  which  comes  down  into  Xature  as  if  only  for 
the  benefit  of  souls  ;  and  all  its  thoughts  are  perceptions  of  things 
as  they  are,  without  any  infirmity  of  earth.  Such  souls  are  as  the 
apparition  of  gods  among  men, 'and  simply  by  their  presence  pass 
judgments  on  them.  Men  are  forced  by  their  own  self-respect  to 
give  them  a  certain  attention.  Evil  men  shrink,  and  pay  involun 
tary  homage  by  hiding  or  apologizing  for  their  action."  2 

He  says  these  "  rare,  extravagant  spirits  come  to  us 
at  intervals,  who  disclose  to  us  new  facts  in  nature;  I 
see.  he  says,  that  men  of  God  have,  from  time  to  time, 
walked  among  men.  and  made  their  commission  felt  in 
the  heart  and  soul  of  the  commonest  hearer."  These 
rare  spirits  he  recognizes  everywhere,  in  all  religions 
and  times.  He  finds  no  antiquity  in  what  they  say,  for 
their  thought  belongs  as  much  to  us  as  to  them.  Their 
thought  is°human  and  universal,  for  no  person  or  per 
sons  have  a  monopoly  in  the  truth.  He  says  Jesus 
astonishes  sensual  people,  and  they  do  not  see  any 
place  for  him  in  the  order  of  history;  but  "as  they 
come  to  revere  their  intuitions  and  aspire  to  live^holily, 
their  own  piety  explains  every  fact,  every  word.  So 
he  regards  Jesus  as  one  of  these  rare  spirits,  pure  and 

i  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,  p.  415.  2  Character,  p.  361. 

«  Essays,  first  series,  p.  25. 


THE   RELIGION   OF   THE   SOUL.  371 

noble,  a  sublime  teacher,  "  our  best,  our  dearest  saint," 
but  in  no  way  different  from  many  another  inspired 
soul.1  He  could  only  reveal  the  Soul,  as  others  have 
done,  and  tell  us  of  its  glad  power ;  but  we  may  our 
selves  have  the  same  vision,  because  we  have  the  same 
nature,  he  had.  The  moment  men  trust  in  him  they 
cripple  themselves  and  degrade  the  soul.  The  moral 
sentiment,  the  gift  of  intuition,  supersedes  his  teaching, 
as  it  does  that  of  every  other.  Men  gain  in  moral 
power  in  so  far  as  they  follow  this  inward  leader ; 
they  inevitably  lose  by  every  effort  to  substitute  for  it 
a  man,  church,  or  book.  It  will  not  permit  of  any 
substitutes.  Its  inspirations  can  not  be  stored  up  more 
than  the  manna  of  the  wilderness. 

"It  is  serenely  above  all  mediation.  In  all  ages,  to  all  men,  it 
saith,  I  am;  and  he  who  hears  it,  feels  the  impiety  of  wandering 
from  this  revelation  to  any  record  or  to  any  rival.  The  poor  Jews 
of  the  wilderness  cried,  '  Let  not  the  Lord  speak  to  us ;  let  Moses 
speak  to  us  I  *  But  the  simple  and  sincere  soul  makes  the  contrary 
prayer :  '  Let  no  intruder  come  between  thee  and  me ;  deal  THOU 
with  me ;  let  me  know  it  is  thy  will,  and  I  ask  no  more.'  The 
excellence  of  Jesus,  and  of  every  true  teacher,  is,  that  he  affirms  the 
Divinity  in  him  and  in  us,  —  not  thrusts  himself  between  it  and  Us. 
It  would  instantly  indispose  us  to  any  person  claiming  to  speak  for 
the  Author  of  nature,  the  setting  forth  of  any  fact  or  law  which 
we  did  not  find  in  our  consciousness."  2 

Emerson  insists  that  the  moral  sentiment  is  quite 
sufficient  as  the  guide  of  men,  that  its  word  is  the  only 
command  they  can  at  last  obey.  All  voices  of  truth 
utter  its  words,  all  religions  are  its  expressions.  He 
sees  in  the  other  religions  of  the  world  an  interest 
Christianity  does  not  afford,  because  we  study  them 
without  any  of  those  limiting  associations  attaching  to 
a  religion  which  once  laid  its  dogmatic  command  on  us. 

1  In  the  Horticultural-Hall  lecture  on  Natural  Religion,  before  the 
Free  Religious  Association,  April  4,  1809,  Emerson  said,  "  I  have  some 
times  thought,  and  indeed  I  al \vay.9  do  think,  chat  the  sect  of  Quakers, 
in  their  representatives,  appeared  to  me  to  have  come  nearer  to  the 
sublime  history  and  genius  of  Christ  than  any  other  of  i.lie  sects.    They 
have  kept  t!">  traditions  perhaps  for  a  longer  time,  kept  the  early  purity, 
did  keep  it  Tor  a  longer  time;  and  I  think  I  see  this  cause,  I  think  I  find 
in  the  language  of  that  sect,  in  all  the  history  and  all  the  anecdotes  of 
its  leaders  and  teachers,  a  certain  fidelity  to  the  Scriptural  character." 

2  Character,  p.  359. 


372  KALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

"  I  am  far,  he  says,  from  accepting  the  opinion  that  the  revela 
tions  of  the  moral  sentiment  are  insufficient ;  as  if  it  furnished  a 
rule  only,  and  not  the  spirit  by  which  the  rule  is  animated.  For  I 
include  in  these,  of  course,  the  history  of  Jesus,  as  well  as  those  of 
every  divine  soul  which  in  any  place  or  time  delivered  any  grand 
lesson  to  humanity ;  and  I  find  in  the  eminent  experiences  in  all 
times  a  substantial  agreement.  The  sentiment  itself  teaches  unity 
of  source,  and  disowns  every  superiority  other  than  of  deeper  truth. 
Jesus  has  immense  claims  on  the  gratitude  of  mankind,  and  knew 
how  to  guard  the  integrity  of  his  brother's  soul  from  himself  also  ; 
but  in  his  disciples,  admiration  of  him  runs  away  with  their  rever 
ence  for  the  human  soul,  and  they  hamper  us  with  limitations  of 
person  and  text.  Every  exaggeration  of  these  is  a  violation  of  the 
soul's  right,  and  inclines  the  manly  reader  to  lay  down  the  New 
Testament,  to  take  up  the  Pagan  philosophers.  It  is  not  that  the 
Upanishads  or  the  Maxims  of  Antoninus  are  better,  but  that  they 
do  not  invade  his  freedom ;  because  they  are  only  suggestions, 
whilst  the  other  adds  the  inadmissible  claim  of  positive  author 
ity, —  of  an  external  command,  .where  command  can  not  be.  This 
is  the  secret  of  the  mischievous  result,  that,  in  every  period  of  in 
tellectual  expansion,  the  church  ceases  to  draw  into  its  clergy  those 
who  best  belong  there,  the  largest  and  freest  minds ;  and  that  in 
its  most  liberal  forms,  when  such  minds  enter  it,  they  are  coldly 
received,  and  find  themselves  out  of  place.  This  charm  in  the 
Pagan  moralists,  of  suggestion,  the  charm  of  poetry,  of  mere  truth 
(easily  eliminated  from  their  historical  accidents,  which  nobody 
wishes  to  force  on  us),  the  Xew  Testament  loses  by  its  connection 
with  a  church.  Mankind  can  not  long  suffer  this  loss,  and  the 
office  of  this  age  is  to  put  all  these  writings  on  the  eternal  footing 
of  equality  of  origin  in  the  instincts  of  the  human  mind.  It  is 
certain  that  each  "inspired  master  will  gain  instantly  by  the  sepa 
ration  from  the  idolatry  of  ages."1 

When  this  doctrine  of  immediate  inspiration  is  lost, 
then  "  the  base  doctrine  of  the  majority  of  voices  usurps 
its  place,  and  miracles,  prophecy,  poetry,  the  ideal  life, 
the  holy  life,  exist  as  ancient  history  merely ;  they  are 
not  in  the  belief,  nor  in  the  aspiration,  of  society." 2 
Jesus  was  a  true  prophet,  saw  God  incarnated  in  all 
men ;  but  "  the  idioms  of  his  language  and  the  figures 
of  his  rhetoric  have  usurped  the  place  of  his  truth,  and 
the  churches  are  not  built  on  his  principles,  but  on  his 
tropes.  Christianity  became  a  mythos,  as  the  poetic 
teachings  of  Greece  and  of  Egypt,  before.  He  spoke 
of  miracles,  for  he  felt  that  man's  life  was  a  miracle, 

i  Ibid.,  p.  369.  2  Miscellanies,  p.  123. 


THE   RFLIGIOX   OF   THE   SOUL.  373 

and  all  that  man  cloth ;  and  he  knew  that  his  daily  mira 
cle  shines,  as  the  character  ascends.  But  the  word 
miracle,  as  pronounced  by  Christian  churches,  gives  a 
false  impression ;  it  is  monster.  It  is  not  one  with  the 
blowing  clover  and  the  falling  rain."  l  Thus  did  Emer 
son  early  express  his  faith  in  the  natural  character  of 
religion,  and  assert  that  its  office  is  to  carry  forward 
what  life  everywhere  reveals,  to  higher  conclusions. 
It  fulfills,  but  never  annuls,  the  promise  cf  nature  and 
man.  This  narrow  regard  for  the  personal  and  miracu 
lous  passes  away  as  soon  as  a  genuine  culture  appears, 
and  the  Christian  traditions  lose  their  hold.  "  The 
dogma  of  the  mystic  offices  of  Christ  being  dropped, 
and  he  standing  on  his  genius  as  a  moral  teacher,  'tis 
impossible  to  maintain  the  old  emphasis  of  his  person 
ality  ;  and  it  recedes,  as  all  persons  must,  before  the 
sublimity  of  the  moral  laws." 2  The  way  to  preach 
Jesus  to  this  age,  he  once  said,  is  to  be  silent  about  him. 
The  old  ideas,  the  old  persons,  will  cease  to  attract  us 
the  moment  we  have  an  intuition,  which  will  send  us  for 
ward  to  new  and  better  conquests  for  the  moral  nature. 
The  fealty  to  person  and  form  will  cease  ;  yet  the  truth 
will  not  fade,  but  grow  more  bright  and  sure  the  deeper 
our  intuition. 

"Inspiration  will  have  advance,  affirmation,  the  forward  foot, 
the  ascending  state ;  it  will  be  an  opener  of  doors  ;  it  will  invent  its 
own  inethods ;  the  new  wine  will  make  the  bottles  new.  Spirit  is 
motive  and  ascending.  Only  let  there  be  a  deep  observer,  and  he 
will  make  light  of  new  shop  and  new  circumstance  that  afflict  you ; 
new  shop  or  old  cathedral,  it  is  all  one  to  him.  He  will  find  the 
circumstances  not  altered,  as  deep  a  cloud  of  mystery  on  the  cause, 
as  dazzling  a  glory  on  the  invincible  law."  3 

Emerson  finds  that  the  Soul  is  a  terrible  critic  of  all 
that  is  personal.  "  No  historical  person  begins  to  con 
tent  us,"  he  says.4  There  are  no  such  men  as  we  fable, 
no  such  Jesus.  He  cares'  not  for  the  individual,  but 
for  the  universal.5  This  thought  of  the  little  value  of 
persons  fee  applies  to  Jesus,  when  he  says,  — 

1  Ibid.,  p.  125.  2  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  18'3. 

3  The  Preacher,  p.  13.  4  Society  and  Solitude,  p.  274 

5  Essays,  second  series,  pp.  219,  220. 


374  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSOX. 

"  Christianity  is  rightly  dear  to  the  best  of  mankind ;  yet  was 
there  never  a  young  philosopher  whose  breeding  had  fallen  into  the 
Christian  church,  by  whom  that  brave  text  of  Paul's  was  not 
specially  prized,  — '  Then  shall  also  the  Son  be  subject  unto  Him 
who  put  all  things  under  him,  that  God  may  be  all  in  all.*  Let 
the  claims  and  virtues  of  persons  be  never  so  great  and  welcome, 
the  instinct  of  man  presses  eagerly  onward  to  the  impersonal  and 
illimitable,  and  gladly  arms  itself  against  the  dogmatism  of  bigots 
with  this  generous  word  out  of  the  book  itself."  l 

He  has  written  with  great  enthusiasm  of  the  Bible  as 
being  of  the  highest  and  truest  form  of  literature.  All 
true  writing,  he  holds,  must  be  by  the  inspiration  of 
God ;  and  books  are  to  be  valued  just  in  proportion  to 
their  power  to  inspire  us.  As  a  book  of  the  most  in 
spiring  thought,  he  puts  the  Bible  in  the  very  first 
rank ;  yet  its  value  is,  that  we  find  what  it  says  true  in 
our  own  souls.  It  shows  us,  therefore,  how  true  the 
soul  is  to  itself,  that  it  ever  gives  the  same  word  to 
those  who  seek  its  truth.  In  an  early  number  of  The 
Dial  he  expressed  his  sense  of  the  value  of  the  Bible. 

"  The  most  original  book  in  the  world  is  the  Bible,  he  there  said. 
This  old  collection  of  the  ejaculations  of  love  and  dread,  of  the 
supreme  derdres  and  contritions  of  men  proceeding  out  of  the  region 
of  the  grand  and  eternal,  by  whatsoever  different  mouths  spoken, 
and  through  a  wide  extent  of  times  and  countries,  seems,  especially 
if  you  add  to  our  canon  the  kindred  sacred  writings  of  the  Hindoos, 
Persians,  and  Greeks,  the  alphabet  of  the  nations,  —  and  all  pos 
terior  writings,  either  the  chronicle  of  facts  under  very  inferior 
ideas,  or,  when  it  rises  to  sentiment,  the  combinations,  analogies,  or 
degradations  of  this.  The  elevation  of  this  book  may  be  measured 
by  observing  how  certainly  all  observation  of  thought  clothes  itself 
in  the  words  and  forms  of  speech  of  that  book.  For  the  human 
mind  is  not  now  sufficiently  erect  to  judge  and  correct  that  scrip 
ture.  Whatever  is  majestically  thought  in  a  great  moral  element, 
instantly  approaches  this  old  Sanscrit.  It  is  in  the  nature  of 
things  that  the  highest  originality  must  be  moral.  The  only  per 
son  who  can  be  entirely  independent  of  this  fountain  of  literature 
and  equal  to  it,  must  be  a  prophet  in  his  own  proper  person. 
Shakspere,  the  first  literary  genius  of  the  world,  the  highest  in 
whom  the  moral  is  not  the  predominating  element,  leans  on  the 
Bible  ;  his  poetry  presupposes  it.  If  we  examine  this  brilliant  in 
fluence  —  Shakspere  —  as  it  lies  in  our  minds,  we  shall  find  it  rever 
ent,  not  only  of  the  letter  of  this  book,  but  of  the  whole  frame  of 
society  which  stood  in  Europe  upon  it,  deeply  indebted  to  the  tra- 

1  Newspaper  report. 


THE   RELIGION   OF   THE   SOUL.  375 

ditional  morality,  in  short,  compared  with  the  tone  of  the  Prophets, 
secondary.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Prophets  do  not  imply  the  ex 
istence  of  Shakspere  or  Homer,  —  advert  to  no  books  or  arts,  only 
to  dread  ideas  and  emotions.  People  imagine  that  the  place  which 
the  Bible  holds  in  the  world,  it  owes  to  miracles.  It  owes  it  simply 
to  the  fact  that  it  came  out  of  a  profounder  depth  of  thought 
than  any  other  book,  and  the  effect  must  be  precisely  proportionate. 
Gibbon  fancied  that  it  was  combinations  of  circumstances  that  gave 
Christianity  its  place  in  history.  But  in  nature  it  takes  an  ounce 
to  balance  an  ounce."1 

The  great  religious  books,  the  scriptures,  of  the  world, 
he  sees  are  the  slow  growths  of  deep  religious  convic 
tions,  which  require  centuries  in  their  formation.  They 
voice  the  aspirations  of  a  nation,  the  desires  of  a  race, 
the  experiences  of  generations.  They  are  all  alike  in 
character,  teach  the  same  moral  truths,  and  have  their 
origin  in  the  same  manner. 

"  The  Bible  itself  is  like  an  old  Cremona ;  it  has  been  played 
upon  by  the  devotion  of  thousands  of  years,  until  every  word  and 
particle  is  public  and  tunable.  And  whatever  undue  reverence 
may  have  been  for  it  by  the  prestige  of  philonic  inspiration,  the 
stronger  tendency  we  are  describing  is  likely  to  undo.  What 
divines  had  assumed  as  the  distinctive  revelations  of  Christianity, 
theologic  criticism  has  matched  by  exact  parallelisms  from  the 
Stoics  and  poets  of  Greece  and  Rome.  Later,  when  Confucius  and 
the  Indian  scriptures  were  made  known,  no  claim  to  monopoly  of 
ethical  wisdom  could  be  thought  of;  and  the  surprising  results 
of  the  new  researches  into  the  history  of  Egypt  have  opened  to  us 
the  deep  debt  of  the  churches  of  Rome  and  England  to  the  Egyp 
tian  hierology."2 

Averse  as  Emerson  is  to  the  religious  forms  that  have 
become  artificial,  and  that  take  the  place  of  the  moral 
sentiment  in  the  affections  of  men,  yet  he  loves  those 
forms  that  are  natural,  and  which  grow  immediately  out 
of  the  soul's  needs.  This  is  seen  in  such  paragraphs  as 
this :  — 

"  Religion  is  as  inexpugnable  as  the  use  of  lamps,  or  of  wells,  or 
of  chimneys.  We  must  have  days  and  temples  and  teachers.  The 
Sunday  is  the  core  of  our  civilization,  dedicated  to  thought  and 
reverence*.  It  invites  to  the  noblest  solitude  and  the  noblest  society, 
to  whatever  means  and  aids  of  spiritual  refreshment.  Men  may 
well  come  together  to  kindle  each  other  to  virtuous  living."8 

i  The  Dial,  October,  1840.         2  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  p.  161. 
8  Character,  p.  370. 


376  EALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

His  respect  for  Sunday,  and  his  desire  that  religious 
culture  shall  not  be  neglected,  he  has  expressed  in 
another  essay ;  and  with  a  hint,  also,  at  the  character 
of  that  culture. 

"  All  civil  mankind  have  agreed  in  leaving  one  day  for  contem 
plation  against  six  for  practice.  I  hope  that  day  will  keep  its 
honor  and  its  use.  A  wise  man  advises  that  we  should  see  to  it 
that  we  read  and  speak  two  or  three  reasonable  words  every  day, 
amid  the  crowd  of  affairs  and  the  noise  of  trifles.  I  should  say 
boldly  that  we  should  astonish  every  day  by  a  beam  oiit  of  eter 
nity  ;  retire  a  moment  to  the  grand  secret  we  carry  in  our  bosom, 
of  inspiration  from  heaven.  But  certainly  on  this  seventh  let  us 
be  the  children  of  liberty,  of  reason,  of  hope  ;  refresh  the  senti 
ment  ;  think  as  spirits  think,  who  belong  to  the  universe,  whilst 
our  feet  walk  in  the  streets  of  a  little  town,  and  our  hands  work 
in  a  small  knqt  of  affairs.  We  shall  find  one  result,  I  am  sure,  — 
a  certain  originality  and  a  certain  haughty  liberty  proceeding  out  of 
our  retirement  and  self-communion,  which  streets  can  never  give, 
infinitely  removed  from  all  vaporing  and  bravado,  and  which  yet  is 
more  than  a  match  for  any  physical  resistance. 

"  It  is  true  that  which  they  say  of  our  Xew-England  oestrum, 
which  will  never  let  us  stand  or  sit,  but  drives  us  like  mad  through 
the  world.  The  calmest  and  most  protected  life  can  not  save  us. 
~\Ve  want  some  intercalated  days,  to  bethink  us,  and  to  derive 
order  to  our  life  from  the  heart.  That  should  be  the  use  of  the 
sabbath,  —  to  check  this  headlong  racing,  and  put  us  in  possession 
of  ourselves  once  more,  for  love  or  for  shame. 

"  The  sabbath  changes  its  forms  from  age  to  age,  but  the  sub 
stantial  benefit  endures.  We  no  longer  recite  the  old  creeds  of 
Athanasius  or  Arius,  of  Calvin  or  Hopkins.  The  forms  are  flex 
ible,  but  the  uses  not  less  real.  The  old  heart  remains  as  ever 
with  its  old  human  duties.  The  old  intellect  still  lives,  to  pierce 
the  shows  to  the  core.  Truth  is  simple,  and  will  not  be  antique; 
is  ever  present,  and  insists  on  being  of  this  age  and  of  this 
moment.  Here  is  thought  and  love,  and  truth  and  duty,  new  as 
on  the  first  day  of  Adam  and  of  angels."  1 

Nowhere  has  Emerson  shown  his  distrust  of  religious 
forms  so  stro-ngly  as  in  what  he  has  written  about 
prayer.  He  regards  it,  not  as  a  petition,  but  as  an  act 
of  intuition. 

"  Prayer  looks  abroad,  he  tells  us,  and  asks  for  some  foreign 
addition  to  come  through  some  foreign  virtue,  and  loses  itself  in 
endless  mazes  of  natural  and  supernatural,  and  mediatorial  and 
miraculous.  Prayer  that  craves  a  particular  commodity  —  any 

1  The  Preacher,  p.  14. 


THE   RELIGION   OF   THE   SOUL.  377 

thing  less  than  all  good  —  is  vicious.  Prayer  is  the  contemplation 
of  the  facts  of  life  from  the  highest  point  of  view.  It  is  the 
soliloquy  of  a  beholding  and  jubilant  soul.  It  is  the  spirit  of 
God  pronouncing  his  works  good.  But  prayer  as  a  means  to  effect 
a  private  end  is  meanness  and  theft.  It  pre-supposes  dualism,  and 
not  unity  in  nature  and  consciousness.  As  soon  as  the  man  is  at 
one  with  God,  he  will  not  beg.  He  will  then  see  prayer  in  all 
action.  The  prayer  of  the  farmer  kneeling  in  his  field  to  weed  it, 
the  prayer  of  the  rower  kneeling  with  the  stroke  of  his  oar,  are 
true  prayers  heard  throughout  nature."  l 

In  his  first  book  lie  expressed  his  deep  appreciation  ofv 
the  value  of  prayer. 

"  In  the  uttermost  meaning  of  the  words  thought  is  devout,  and 
devotion  is  thought.  Deep  calls  unto  deep.  ...  Is  not  prayer 
also  a,  study  of  truth,  —  a  sally  of  the  soul  into  the  unfound 
infinite?  No  man  ever  prayed  heartily,  without  learning  some 
thing,"  2 

He  once  called  prayer  a  plunge  into  the  unfound 
infinite ;  and  he  has  made  it  synonymous  with  intui 
tion,  as  well  as  regarding  it  as  a  craving  and  earnest 
desire  to  be  willing  to  accept  and  "obey  the  laws  of 
God.  It  is  the  response  of  the  soul  to  the  attractions 
of  the  Over-soul,  the  joyous  acceptance  of  its  guid 
ance.  With  Madame  Guyon  he  regards  "  intuition  as  a 
continuous  word,  potent,  ineffable,  ever  uttered  without 
language ;  the  immediate,  unchecked  operation  of  resi 
dent  Deity."  With  this  conception  of  intuition  she 
could  not  simply  ask  God  for  aid,  but  she  believed 
that  through  it  direct  communion  with  God  was  to  be 
obtained.  So  she  lost  faith  in  the  formal  prayers  of 
the  church,  but  found  all  things  in  what  she  called  the 
prayer  of  silence,  —  "  that  prayer  which,  unlimited  to 
times  and  seasons,  unhindered  by  words,  is  a  state 
rather  than  an  act,  a  sentiment  rather  than  a  request,— 
a  continuous  sense  of  submission,  which  breathes, 
moment  by  moment,  from  the  serene  depth  of  the 
soul,  Thy  will  be  done."  Her  idea  is  almost  identical 
with  Emerson's,  when  she  describes  -her  prayer  of  intui 
tion  and  silence,  as  one  of  "rejoicing  and  possession, 
wherein  the  taste  of  God  was  so  great,  so  pure, 

1  Essays,  first  series,  p.  67.  2  Miscellanies,  pp.  71,  72. 


378  RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 

unblended,  and  uninterrupted,  that  it  drew  'and 
absorbed  the  powers  of  the  soul  into  a  profound  com 
munion,  without  act  or  discourse."  Yet  Emerson  finds 
the  trusting  submission  to  the  laws  of  God,  which 
recognizes  their  unity  and  beauty,  to  be  an  act  of 
prayer.  It  is  not  the  weeding  a  field  which  is  prayer, 
but  the  craving  to  be  at  one  with  God,  which  the 
farmer  may  express  even  in  his  daily  work.  Tauler 
had  precisely  Emerson's  conception  of  prayer  when  he 
said  that  "  so  soon  as  a  man  prays  for  any  creature,  he 
praj's  for  his  own  harm."  "  He  who  seeks  God, 
lie  sa}?s  again,  if  he  seeks  any  thing  beside  God,  will 
not  find  him ;  but  he  who  seeks  God  alone  in  the  truth, 
will  find  him,  and  all  that  God  can  give  with  him." 
Without  words  the  soul  prays  as  it  reaches  forward  to 
realize  its  harmony  in  God,  asking  for  no  temporal 
good,  desiring  nothing  but  that  perfect  peace  which 
comes  of  union  with  the  Over-soul. 

Emerson  closed  his  Divinity-school  address  by  assert 
ing  his  faith  that  there  will  come  a  new  teacher,  who 
will  lead  religion  forward  to  greater  heights  than  ever 
yet  attained. 

"  The  Hebrew  and  Greek  scriptures  contain  immortal  sentences, 
that  have  been  bread  of  life  to  millions.  But  they  have  no  epical 
integrity  ;  are  fragmentary  ;  are  not  shown  in  their  order  to  the  in 
tellect.  I  look  for  the  new  Teacher,  that  shall  follow  so  far  those 
shining  laws,  that  he  shall  see  them  come  full  circle  ;  shall  see  their 
rounding,  complete  grace  ;  shall  see  the  world  to  be  the  mirror  of 
the  soul ;  shall  see  the  identity  of  the  law  of  gravitation  with  purity 
of  heart ;  and  shall  show  that  the  Ought,  that  Duty,  is  one  with 
Science,  with  Beauty,  and  with  Joy."1 

He  has  again  and  again  repeated  this  declaration  of 
the  imperfection  of  Christianity,  that  religion  is  pro 
gressive,  and  that  a  more  perfect  expression  of  its  truths 
will  yet  come  to  men.  What  this  pure  religion  will  be 
he  points  out  in  these  words :  — 

"  There  will  be  a  new  church  founded  on  moral  science,  at  first 
cold  and  naked,  a  babe  in  the  manger  again,  the  algebra  and  mathe 
matics  of  ethical  law,  the  church  of  men  to  come,  without  shawms 

i  Ibid.,  p.  146. 


THE   RELIGION   OF   THE   SOUL.  379 

or  psaltery  or  sackbut ;  but  it  will  have  heaven  and  earth  for  its 
beams  and  rafters ;  science  for  symbol  and  illustration  ;  it  will  fast 
enough  gather  beauty,  music,  picture,  poetry.  Was  never  stoicism 
so  stern  and  exigent  as  this  shall  be.  It  shall  send  man  home  to 
his  central  solitude,  shame  these  social  supplicating  manners,  and 
make  him  know  that  much  of  the  time  he  must  have  himself  to 
his  friend.  He  shall  expect  no  co-operation,  he  shall  walk  with 
no  companion.  The  nameless  Thought,  the  nameless  Power,  the 
super-personal  Heart,  —  he  shall  repose  alone  on  that."  l 

In  other  words,  he  believes  religion  will  cease  to  be 
any  thing  but  intuition,  communion  with  God;  and 
morality,  or  obedience  to  God's  laws.  All  that  is  of 
sect  or  party,  all  that  is  of  historic  forms,  will  pass 
away ;  and  the  spiritual  and  moral  sentiment  will  alone 
remain.  He  says  the  life  of  the  old  traditions  is  not  in 
the  historic  legend  about  which  they  are  formed,  "  but 
in  the  moral  sentiment  and  the  metaphysical  fact  which 
the  legends  enclosed,  —  and  these  survive."  This  cen 
tral,  surviving  core  of  unchanging  truth,  will  one  day  so 
attract  some  rare,  pure  genius,  that  he  will  teach  only 
what  it  asserts.  This  happy  day  is  yet  far  off.  But  he 
says,  — 

"It  is  true  that  Stoicism,  always  attractive  to  the  intellectual 
and  cultivated,  has  now  no  temples,  no  academy,  no  commanding 
Zeno  or  Antoninus.  It  accuses  us  that  it  has  none;  that  pure 
ethics  is  not  now  formulated  and  concreted  into  a  cultus,  a  frater 
nity  with  assemblings  and  holy-days,  with  song  and  book,  with 
brick  and  stone.  Why  have  not  those  who  believe  in  it  and  love  it 
left  all  for  this,  and  dedicated  themselves  to  write  out  its  scientific 
scriptures  to  become  its  Vulgate  for  millions  ?  I  answer  for  one, 
that  the  inspirations  we  catch  of  this  law  are  not  continuous  and 
technical,  but  joyful  sparkles,  and  are  recorded  for  their  beauty,  for 
the  delight  they  give,  not  for  their  obligation ;  and  that  is  their 
priceless  good  to  men,  that  they  charm  and  uplift,  not  that  they  are 
imposed. 

"  It  has  not  yet  its  first  hymn.  But  that  every  line  and  word 
may  be  coals  of  true  fire,  ages  must  roll  ere  these  casual  wide-falling 
cinders  may  be  gathered  into  broad  and  steady  altar-flame."  2 

He  sees  rich  promise  of  this  new  faith  in  the  wider 
humanitarian  spirit  of  our  time,  and  in  that  desire, 
everywhere  manifest,  to  look  at  man  simply  as  man, 

1  Conduct  of  Life,  p.  210.  2  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,  p.  4-17. 


3  SO  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

regardless  of  his  sect  or  nation.  And  every  thing  is 
promised  in  the  new  regard  for  the  individual.  The 
new  faith  will  throw  each  person  upon  his  own  re 
sources,  so  far  as  the  old  dogmatic  supports  are  con 
cerned  ;  but  it  will  draw  his  fellows  closer  to  him  in 
friendship  and  love.  Of  this  slow  process,  now  going 
on,  by  which  the  new  faith  is  being  brought  to  men,  he 


"Of  course,  each  poor  soul  loses  all  his  old  stays;  no  bishop 
watches  him  ;  no  confessor  reports  that  he  has  neglected  the  con 
fessional  ;  no  class-leader  admonishes  him  of  absences  ;  no  fagot, 
no  penance,  no  fine,  no  rebuke.  Is  not  this  wrong?  is  not  this 
dangerous?  Tis  not  wrong,  but  the  law  of  growth.  It  is  not 
dangerous,  any  more  than  the  mother's  withdrawing  her  hands 
from  the  tottering  babe,  at  his  first  walk  across  the  nursery  -floor  ; 
the  child  fears  and  cries,  but  achieves  the  feat,  instantly  tries  it 
again,  and  never  wishes  to  be  assisted  more.  And  this  infant  soul 
must  learn  to  walk  alone.  At  first  he  is  forlorn,  homeless  ;  but 
this  rude  stripping  him  of  all  support  drives  him  inward,  and  he 
finds  himself  unhurt;  he  finds  himself  face  to  face  with  the  ma 
jestic  Presence,  reads  the  original  of  the  Ten  Commandments,  the 
original  of  Gospels  and  Epistles."  1 

The  new  faith  will  make  all  men  prophets  and 
apostles  of  the  Spirit.  Then  America  will  have  a  pure 
religion  of  its  own,  for  a  completed  nation  will  not  bor 
row  its  faith.  Its  service  will  be  devotion  to  man,  its 
bible  the  inward  voice  of  God,  its  commandments  the 
laws  of  nature,  its  gospel  the  moral  sentiment.  It  will 
win  and  delight  men  by  a  loftier  spirit  of  truth  and 
love.  It  will  unite  all  truth,  it  will  give  new  motives 
to  life,  it  will  make  love  the  la\v  of  human  relations. 
The  new  faith  will  rest  on  what  is  natural  to  man. 
"  The  first  position  I  make,  he  says,  is  that  natural  re 
ligion  supplies  still  all  the  facts  which  are  disguised 
under  the  dogma  of  popular  creeds.  The  progress  of 
religion  is  steadily  to  its  identification  with  morals."  2 
Hence  he  finds  that  "sensible  and  conscientious  men 
all  over  the  world  are  of  one  religion,  —  the  religion  of 
well-doing  and  daring,  men  of  sturdy  truth,  men  of  in 
tegrity  and  feeling  for  others.  My  inference  is,  he 

1  Character,  p.  371.  2  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,  p.  417. 


THE  RELIGION   OF   THE   SOUL.  881 

adds,  that  there  is  a  statement  of  religion  possible 
which  makes  all  skepticism  absurd."  :  In  his  address 
at  the  second  annual  meeting  of  the  Free  Religious 
Association,  he  made  such  a  statement  of  his  own 
belief.  It  so  fully  illustrates  his  religious  position  it 
ought  to  be  read  in  full. 

"  I  think  we  have  disputed  long  enough.  I  think  we  might  now 
relinquish  our  theologic  controversies  to  communities  more  idle 
and  ignorant  than  we.  I  am  glad  that  a  more  realistic  church  is 
coming  to  be  the  tendency  of  society,  and  that  we  are  likely  one 
day  to  forget  our  obstinate  polemics  in  the  ambition  to  excel  each 
other  in  good  works.  I  have  no  wish  to  proselyte  any  reluctant 
mind ;  nor,  I  think,  have  I  any  curiosity  or  impulse  to  Intrude  on 
those  whose  ways  of  thinking  differ  from  mine.  But  I  am  ready 
to  give,  as  often  before,  the  first  simple  foundations  of  my  belief, 
that  the  Author  of  nature  has  not  left  himself  without  a  witness 
in  any  sane  mind ;  that  the  moral  sentiment  speaks  to  every  man 
the  law  after  which  the  universe  was  made  ;  that  we  find  parity, 
identity  of  design,  through  nature,  and  benefit,  to  be  the  uniform, 
aim ;  that  there  is  a  force  always  at  work  to  make  the  best  better, 
and  the  worst  good.  We  have  had,  not  long  since,  presented  to  us 
by  Max  M  tiller,  a  valuable  paragraph  from  St.  Augustine,  not  at 
all  extraordinary  in  itself,  but  only  as  coining  from  that  eminent 
Father  in  the  Church,  and  at  that  age  in  which  St.  Augustine 
writes :  '  That  which  is  now  called  the  Christian  religion  existed 
among  the  ancients,  and  never  did  not  exist  from  the  planting  of 
the  human  race  until  Christ  came  in  the  flesh  ;  at  which  time  the 
true  religion,  which  already  subsisted,  began  to  be  called  Christian 
ity  ! '  I  believe  that  not  only  Christianity  is  as  old  as  the  crea 
tion,  —  not  only  every  sentiment  and  precept  of  Christianity  can  be 
paralleled  in  other  religious  writings,  —  but  more,  that  a  man  of 
religious  susceptibility,  and  one  at  the  same  time  conversant  with 
many  men,  —  say,  a  much-traveled  man,  —  can  find  the  same  idea 
in  numberless  conversations.  The  religious  find  religion  wherever 
they  associate.  When  I  find  in  people  narrow  religion,  I  find  also 
in  them  narrow  reading.  Nothing  really  is  so  self-publisliing,  so 
divulgatory,  as  thought.  It  can  riot  be  confined  or  hid.  It  is 
easily  carried ;  it  takes  no  room ;  the  knowledge  of  Europe  looks 
out  into  Persia  and  India,  and  to  the  very  Caffirs.  Every  proverb, 
every  fine  text,  every  pregnant  jest,  travels  across  the  line ;  and 
you  will  find  it  at  Cape  Town  or  a"mong  the  Tartars.  We  are  all 
believers  in  natural  religion ;  we  all  agree  that  the  health  and  in 
tegrity  of  i-> nn  is  self-respect,  self-subsistency,  a  regard  to  natural 
conscience.  All  education  is  to  accustom  him  to  trust  himself,  dis 
criminate  between  his  higher  and  lower  thoughts,  exert  the  timid 

1  The  Preacher,  p.  7. 


382  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

faculties  until  they  are  robust,  and  thus  train  him  to  self-help,  until 
he  ceases  to  be  an  underling,  a  tool,  and  becomes  a  benefactor.  I 
think  wise  men  wish  their  religion  to  be  all  of  this  kind,  teaching 
the  agent  to  go  alone,  not  to  hang  on  the  world  as  a  pensioner,  a 
permitted  person,  but  an  adult,  self-searching  soul,  brave  to  assist 
or  resist  the  world  ;  only  humble  and  docile  before  the  source  of  the 
wisdom  he  has  discovered  within  him. 

"  As  it  is,  every  believer  holds  a  different  creed ;  that  is,  all  the 
churches  are  churches  of  one  member.  All  our  sects  have  refined 
the  point  of  difference  between  them.  The  point  of  difference  that 
still  remains  between  churches,  or  between  classes,  is  in  the  addi 
tion  to  the  moral  code,  that  is,  to  natural  religion,  of  something 
positive  and  historical.  I  think  that  to  be  the  one  difference  re 
maining.  I  object,  of  course,  to  the  claim  of  miraculous  dispensa 
tion,  —  certainly  not  to  the  doctrine  of  Christianity.  This  claim 
impairs,  to  my  mind,  the  soundness  of  him  who  makes  it,  and  in 
disposes  us  to  his  communion.  This  comes  the  wrong  way;  it 
comes  from  without,  not  within.  This  positive,  historical,  author 
itative  scheme  is  not  consistent  with  our  experience  or  our  expecta 
tions.  It  is  something  not  in  nature  ;  it  is  contrary  to  that  law  of 
nature,  which  all  wise  men  recognize,  namely,  never  to  require  a 
larger  cause  than  is  necessary  to  the  effect.  George  Fox,  the 
Quaker,  said,  that,  though  he  read  of  Christ  and  God,  he  knew 
them  only  from  a  like  spirit  in  his  own  soul.  We  want  all  the 
aids  in  our  moral  training.  We  can  not  spare  the  vision  nor  the 
virtue  of  the  saints ;  but  let  it  be  by  pure  sympathy,  not  with  any 
personal  or  official  claim.  If  you  are  childish,  and  exhibit  your 
saint  as  a  worker  of  wonders,  a  thaumaturgist,  I  am  repelled.  That 
claim  takes  his  teachings  out  of  logic  and  out  of  nature,  and  per 
mits  official  and  arbitrary  senses  to  be  grafted  on  the  teachings. 
It  is  the  praise  of  our  New  Testament  that  its  teachings  go  to  the 
honor  and  benefit  of  humanity,  —  that  no  better  lesson  has  been 
taught  or  incarnated.  Let  it  stand,  beautiful  and  wholesome,  with 
whatever  is  most  like  it  in  the  teaching  and  practice  of  men ;  but 
do  not  attempt  to  elevate  it  out  of  humanity  by  saying,  '  This  was 
not  a  man ; '  for  then  you  confound  it  with  the  fables  of  every  pop 
ular  religion ;  and  my  distrust  of  the  story  makes  me  distrust  the 
doctrine  as  soon  as  it  differs  from  my  own  belief.  Whoever  thinks 
a  story  gains  by  the  prodigious,  by  adding  something  out  of  nature, 
robs  it  more  than  he  adds.  It  is  no  longer  an  example,  a  model ; 
no  longer  a  heart-stirring  hero,  but  an  exhibition,  a  wonder,  an 
anomaly,  removed  out  of  the  range  of  influence  with  thoughtful 
men.  I  submit,  that,  in  sound  frame  of  mind,  we  read  or  remem 
ber  the  religious  sayings  and  oracles  of  other  men,  whether  Jew  or 
Indian  or  Greek  or  Persian,  only  for  friendship,  only  for  joy  in 
the  social  identity  which  they  open  to  us ;  and  that  these  words 
would  have  no  weight  with  us  if  we  had  not  the  same  conviction 
already.  I  find  something  stingy  in  the  unwilling  arid  disparaging 
admission  of  these  foreign  opinions,  —  opinions  from  all  parts  of 


THE   RELIGION    OF   THE   SOUL.  383 

the  world,  —  by  our  churchmen,  as  if  only  to  enhance,  by  their 
dimness,  the  superior  light  of  Christianity.  Meantime,  observe, 
you  can  not  bring  me  too  good  a  word,  too  dazzling  a  hope,  too 
penetrating  an  insight  from  the  Jews.  I  hail  every  one  with  de 
light,  as  showing  the  riches  of  my  brother,  my  fellow-coul,  who 
would  thus  think,  and  thus  greatly  feel.  Zealots  eagerly  fasten 
their  eyes  on  the  differences  between  their  creed  and  yours ;  but 
the  charm  of  the  study  is  in  finding  the  agreements,  the  identities, 
in  all  the  religions  of  men. 

"Iain  glad  to  hear  each  sect  complain  that  they  do  not  now 
hold  the  opinions  they  are  charged  with.  The  earth  moves,  and 
the  mind  opens.  I  am  glad  to  believe  society  contains  a  class  of 
humble  souls  who  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  religion  that  does  not 
degrade;  who  think  it  the  highest  worship  to  expect  of  Ilearen 
the  most  and  best ;  who  do  not  wonder  there  was  a  Christ,  but 
that  there  were  not  a  thousand ;  who  have  conceived  an  infinite 
hope  for  mankind ;  who  believe  that  the  history  of  Jesus  is  the 
history  of  every  man,  written  large."  1 

These  words  may  be  taken  as  a  distinct  statement  of 
Emerson's  religious  position.  They  indicate  the  posi 
tive,  the  affirmative,  nature  of  his  faith,  and  yet  that 
he  will  not  commit  his  instinctive  trust  to  the  limits  of 
any  formula.  "  I  am  too  young  yet  by  some  ages,  he 
says,  to  compile  a  code ; "  2  and  he  has  expressed  the 
same  thought  about  the  making  of  a  creed.  Little 
inclined  as  he  may  be  to  enforce  these  opinions  as  a 
creed,  yet  they  will  command  attention  for  their  bold 
ness  and  originality.  Though  they  strip  religion  of  all 
its  rites  and  forms,  yet  they  make  it  the  commanding 
concern  and  interest  of  mankind.  If  this  faith  of  the 
soul  may  never  attract  but  a  few,  because  most  need 
the  aid  of  history  and  definite  statement,  yet  it  will 
ever  remain  a  powerful  protest  against  formalism,  and 
an  inspiration  to  a  purer  worship.  Because  Emerson's 
is  purely  a  religion  of  the  spirit,  no  historic  faith  will 
seek  to  gather  sanctions  for  its  teachings,  out  of  his 
inspirations ;  no  sect  will  build  on  his  foundation ;  no 
school  of  thinkers  will  name  him  as  its  head.  He 
speaks  of  the  truth,  but  he  would  not  put  himself  in 

1  Proceedings  at  the  Second  Annual  Meeting  of  the  Free  Religious 
Association,  held  in  Tremont  Temple,  Boston,  May  27  and  28,  1809. 
Reprinted  in  Freedom  and  Fellowship  in  Religion,  p.  384. 

2  Essays,  second  series,  p.  84. 


384  RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON. 

its  stead.  In  his  teachings  and  in  his  life  he  is  a  great 
moral  influence,  he  is  an  awakener  and  stimulator  of 
the  spiritual  in  man,  while  in  his  intellectual  convic 
tions  he  is  a  penetrating  spirit  of  truth.  He  is  a  lark 
that  heralds  the  coming  day,  a  sunbeam  that  dissipates 
darkness.  All  the  more  pervasive,  because  purely 
moral  and  spiritual,  will  be  his  influence,  reaching  all 
hearts,  pervading  all  forms,  entering  all  sanctuaries, 
sustaining  all  right  moral  considerations,  and  invigorat 
ing  every  true  resolve.  Life  will  seem  more  sacred,  the 
world  holier,  truth  more  sure,  man  diviner,  heaven 
nearer,  whenever  we  love  the  truth  in  that  untram- 
meled  spirit  he  has  sought  to  vindicate.  Whatever 
flaws  may  be  found  in  his  philosophic  methods,  none 
will  be  found  in  those  moral  and  spiritual  truths  to 
which  he  has  devoted  his  life  for  half  a  century.  As 
we  look  truly  at  his  life,  and  consider  attentively  the 
word  he  has  spoken,  we  ean  but  say,  — 

"  So  long  hast  thou  been  loyal  to  thyself, 
So  long  hast  thou  been  loyal  to  the  world, 
So  long  hast  thou  been  loyal  to  1<hy  God, 
That  howso  men  may  look  upon  thy  faith, 
Thy  face  looks  at  them  tranquil  with  its  truth." 


INDEX. 


A. 


Adams,  J.  Q.,  48. 

Addresses,  59,  120,  127,  133,  138,  164,  166, 

170,  172,  182,  200. 
Affinity,  97,  349. 

Affirmation,  value  of,  360,  361,  373. 
Agassiz,  306. 
Alcott,  55,  57,  58,  60,  66,  77,  83,  84,  92,  93, 

105, 106, 164,  200,  204, 211,  212,  262,  264. 
Alger,  W.  R.,  185. 
YAmerica,  100,  126,  130,  131,  157,  166, 174, 

183. 

American  letters,  lecture  on,  77. 
Americans,  lecture  on,  126. 
American  scholar,  lecture  on,  59. 
Analogy,  209,  238,  241. 
Ancestry,  1,  14. 
Anecdotes,  17,  127,  264. 
Anthology  Club,  14. 
Anthology,  Monthly,  13. 
Antinomy,  336,  356. 
"Art,  238. 

Association,  Free  Religious,  164,  168,  381. 
Atlantic  Monthly,  160,  169,  200. 
Augustine,  22,  169. 


B. 


Bartol,  C.  A.,  56,  66,  77,  83,  114,  260,  268. 
Bates,  Miss  C.  F.,  quoted,  384. 
^feeing,  ground  of,  281,  310,  352. 
Bias,  124,  172,  309,  332. 
Bible,  85,  364,  374,  382. 
Bliss,  Daniel,  7. 
Boehrne,  107,  216,  268,  277,  314,  323,  348, 

365. 
V  Books,  60,  32,  86,  176,  178,  213,  214,  218, 

227. 

Boston  Hymn,  152. 
Bowen,  Francis,  43, 114. 


Bradlaugh,  Charles,  179,  187. 

Bremer,  Frederika,  104,  191,  193,  194,  196, 

253,  260,  266. 

Brook  Farm,  91,  94,  95,  97,  99. 
Brown,  John,  140,  141,  142,  154,  164. 
Brownson,  Orestes,  55,  56,  66,  74,  92,  284. 
Bulkoley,  Peter,  2. 
Burns,  Robert,  128, 181,  230. 
Burns,  lecture  on,  127. 
Burroughs,  John,  1,  194,  208,  209. 
Byron,  161, 228. 

C. 

California,  visit  to,  170. 

Carlyle,  33,  46,  47,  52,   88,  107,  109,   113, 

115,  120,  175,  185,  186,  201,  219,  223,  225, 

239,  268,  282,  302. 

Channing,  Dr.,  23,  35,  54,  56,  57,  77,93. 
Channing,  W.  E.,  83, 181,  234. 
Channing,  W.  II.,  56,  57,  77,  83, 122,  142. 
Chardon-strcct  meetings,  85,  92. 
Charity,  97. 

Cherokecs,  letter  on  the,  63. 
Christianity,  29,  31,  67,  86,  164,  360,  361, 

362,  364,  370,  372,  374,  378,  3S1. 
Churches,  32,  68, 164, 360, 366, 367,  369,  378. 
Civilization,  101,  135,  147,  342. 
Civilization,  lecture  on,  146,  169. 
Clarke,  J.  F.,  48,  56,  74,  83,  84,  122,  359  n. 
Clough,  A.  II.,  105,  117,  136. 
Coleridge,  23,  34,  40,  52,  107,  115,  117,  219, 

270,  280,  311,  312,  314,  317,  365. 
Combe,  George,  54,  91. 
Compensation,  315,  343,  344,  346,  348. 
Competition,  97. 

Concord,  history  of,  3,  37,  177,  182,  199. 
Concord  fight,  10,  30,  182. 
Concord  library  address,  176. 
Concord  lyccum,  199. 
Conduct  of  Lifts,  128. 

385 


386 


INDEX. 


''Conscience,  340,  344. 

Conway,  M.  D.,  34  n.t  160, 191,  261,  265. 
"Courage,  lecture  on,  140,  206. 

Conversational  powers,  104, 106, 173, 193, 

194,  198,  200,  264,  2G6. 
•"Contraries,  277,  279,  293,  298. 

Critics,  43,  68,  109,  111,  112,  113,  114,  118, 

129,  184,  189,  210. 
"Criticism,  true  spirit  of,  82,  215. 

Crozier,  J.  B.,  187,  285  n.,  359  n 
"Culture,  99,  102, 131, 162. 

D. 

Dartmouth  College  address,  64. 
Definitions,  refuses  to  make,  287, 289, 291, 

307,  354,  359,  361. 
Development,  296,  298,  300,  341,  343,  350, 

358. 

Dial,  77,  79,  85,  89,  110. 
Dial,  prospectus  of  the,  79. 
Discipline,  41,  341. 
Divinity  School,  23,  66,  71, 185. 
-Divinity  School  address,  66,  70,  74,  75. 
Domestic  life,  190,  198. 

E. 

Eckhart,  268,  275,  286,  301,  310,  314,  321, 
339,348.  - 

Ecstasy,  274,  318,  323,  324,  325,  363. 

Education,  90,  98. 
•^Education,  lecture  on,  156. 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  7. 
"Egotism  321,  322. 

Emerson,  Charles  Chauncy,  50,  84, 133. 

Emerson,  Edward,  6. 

Emerson,  Edward  Bliss,  49,  84. 

Emerson,  Edward  Waldo,  364  n. 

Emerson,  Joseph,  6. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  born,  16;  boy 
hood,  17;  school,  18;  college,  20;  teach 
ing,  21,  23;  study  of  theology,  23;  be 
gins  to  preach,  24 ;  ordained,  20 ;  settled 
ministry,  26;  resigns,  30;  Europe,  33; 
marriage,  34;  lectures,  35;  preaching  in 
New  Bedford,  35 ;  Concord,  36;  second 
marriage,  33;  Nature,  40;  preaching, 
44;  edits  Carlyle,  46;  transcendental 
ism,  53;  Transcendental  Club,  55;  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  lecture,  59 ;  Divinity  School 
address,  66;  Dial,  77;  Brook  Farm,  94; 
Essays,  108 ;  Poems,  114 ;  second  visit  to 
England,  115:  Miscellanies, US;  Repre 


sentative  M  'en,  118;  Memoirs  of  M.  Ful 
ler,  122;  English  Traits,  125;  Conduct 
of  Life,  128;  anti-slavery  movement, 
132;  Sumner  caned,  138;  John  Brown, 
140;  Rebellion,  144;  death  of  Lincoln, 
152;  Free  Religious  Association,  164; 
May-Day,  167;  Society  and  Solitude, 
169;  house  burned,  175;  third  visit  to 
Europe,  175;  candidate  for  lord-rector, 
179;  Parnassus,  181;  Letters  and  So 
cial  Aims,  181  ;  Select  Poems,  185  ;  hun 
dredth  lecture  at  Concord,  185;  old  age, 
189. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  R.  W.,  38,  192. 

Emerson,  Waldo,  112. 

Emerson,  William,  9. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  William,  12,  16,  21,  24. 

England,  visits  to,  33,  115,  175. 
^English  Traits,  837l25. 

Emancipation,  137,  148,  151,  152. 

Emancipation,  addresses  on,  133,  137,  144, 

147,  150. 
^Essays,  108,  113. 

Essays,  Carlyle's  preface  to,  109. 

Ethics,  41,  333,  337. 

Everett,  Edward,  20,  22,  39,  54. 

EvxretL  Charles  Carroll,  188.,—y^ar  f-T\ 


Examiner,  Christian,  10,  28,  43,  68,  71. 

109,  113. 
Excursions,  Thoreau's,  160. 


F. 

Farming,  essay  on,  169,  204,  206. 

Fate,  333,  335,  341. 

Felton,  C.  C.,  109. 

Fichte,  107,  219,  260,  282,  287,  314  n. 

Fortune  of  the  Republic,  157,  185. 

Fourier,  94, 101. 

France,  lecture  on,  126. 

Francis,  Convers,  56,  57,  75,  92. 
-Freedom,  292,  300,  303,  336,  343,  352. 
"Free  Religious  Association,  164,  168,  381. 

Frcc-Soiler,  136. 

Friends  of  Universal  Progress,  92. 

Friendships,  106,  187,  197. 

Friswell,  Hain,  185  n. 

Froudc,  J.  A.,  175. 

Fuller,  Margaret,  49,  55,  75,  77,  83,  84,  85, 
89,  92,  105,  106,  122,  197,  257. 

Furness,  W.  H.,  20,  55,  66. 


INDEX. 


387 


G. 

Genius,  216,  281,  308,  318,  325,  347,  370. 
Glasgow  University  rectorship,  179. 
God,  42,  238,  286,  288,  289,  313,  317,  324 

359. 
Goethe,  24,  53,  107,  172,  188,  201,  219,  221 

223,  225,  281,  349,  354,  361. 
Goodwin,  H.  B.,  29,  44. 
Gospels,  Alcott's  conversations  on,  58. 
Great  men,  120,  215,  282,  326, 328,  343,  370 
Grace,  120,  272,  274,  276,  284,  359. 
Grimm,  H.,  188,  221. 
Ground  of  being,  281,  310,  352. 
Guyon,  Madame,  321,  377. 

H. 

Habits,  106,  190, 192, 193,  202,  245, 259,  261, 

Hawthorne,  105,  193. 

Hedge,  F.  H.,  56,  77,  83,  84,  92, 113,  253, 

254. 

Hegel,  277,  281,  282,  332,  336,  355,  S62. 
Herbert,  George,  39,  181,  236. 
Herder,  53,  175, 191, 192. 
Heredity,  1,  15,  334. 
Hero-worshipper,  328. 
Higginson,  T.  W.,  169,  200. 
HSistory,  119,  316. 
Hoar,  E.  R.,  50,  199. 
Holbeach,  Henry  (A.  H.  Japp),  278. 
Holbrook,  Josiab,  256. 
Holmes,  O.  W.,  50,  181. 
Holyoake,  G.  J.,  186, 187. 
Homer,  177,  242. 
Hospitality,  197. 
House,  38,  175, 191, 192. 
Howard  University  address,  172,  216,  223. 
Howells,  W.  D.,  167,  254. 
Hubbard,  Ebenezer,  182. 
Human  life,  lectures  on,  60,  65. 
Humor,  99. 
Hundred  Greatest  Men,  326. 


I. 


"  Ideas,  268,  273,  318,  327. 

Idealism,  42,  268,  269,  348. 
Identity,  1S-1,  206,  239,  240,  274,  278,  279, 
280,  294,  295,  296,  309,  317,  320,  348. 

Imagination,  214,  237,  308. 

Immanence,  276,  277,  282. 


Immortality,  298,  351,  353,  357,  359. 
Individualism,  53, 95, 97, 102, 174,  281,  309, 

312,  342,  380. 

-Infinite,  feeling  of  the,  217,  362. 
Instinct,  308,  318,  331, 

Institutions,  31,  95,  326,  365. 
•intellect,  274,  296,  336,  340,  349. 
-Intellect,  lectures  on,  168,  307. 
intuition,  66,  213,  215,  280,  281,  284,  306,    \ 
308,  317,  318,  320,  322,  325,  335,  359,  364,     \ 


366,  373,  377. 


J. 


Jesus,  67,  70,  86,  95,  98,  370,  372. 
Jonson,  Ben,  289. 

K. 

Kant,  107,  282,  293,  333,  336. 
Knowing,  method  of,  213,  216,  276,  314, 
317,  318,  320. 


Landor,  33,  86,  107,  219,  220,  225. 

Law,  67,  97,  269,  286,  295, 302,  306,  307,333, 

338,  340,  343. 
Laws,  moral,  41. 

Law,  William,  277,  295,  299,  301,  319. 
Lecturer,  36,  49,  59, 115,  116,  118,  128,  148, 

170,  173,  179,  184,  188,  203,  207,  256,  266. 
Lectures,  35,  36,  39,  47,  60,  61,  Go,  86,  94, 

103,  108,  113,  115,  117,  118,  126, 127,  133, 

136,  140,  141,  145,  160,  163,  166,  168,  172, 

185. 

Lessing,  231,  270,  282,  361. 
Letters,  63,  69,  73, 179,  180,  363  n. 
Letters  and  Social  Aims,  184. 
Lexington,  East,  59. 
Light,  inward,  67,93, 95, 173,  310,  314,  321, 

322,  324,  330,  331,  342,  364,  365,  371. 
Lincoln,  145,  146,  152,  203,  262. 
Literary  characteristics,  111,  130, 167, 188, 

195,  208,  210,  211,  271. 
Literary  influence,  130,  231,  270. 
Literary  methods,  73,  167,  202,  204,  207, 

209,  211,  306. 
Jord's  Supper,  30. 
Love,  250,  340,  345. 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  60,  84,  127,  228,  260,  263. 
.yceums,  199,  256. 


388 


INDEX. 


M. 

Magnetism,  279,  294,  329,  331,  333. 
'-Man,  87,  102,  277,  295,  297,  310,  313,  315 
319,  326,  347,  352. 

Mann,  Horace,  48,  91,  102. 

Manse,  old,  9,  36,  40,  175. 
^dan,  universal,  59,  217,  313,  327. 

Martineau,  II.,  103, 117, 125,  132. 

Masses,  96,  98,  341. 

Matter,  268,  294,  300,  301,  307. 

May-Day,  167,  246. 

Mediators,  364,  366,  370. 

Messiah,  370. 

Microcosm,  man  a,  273,  277,  279. 

Milton,  37,  40,  168,  181,  229,  236,  242. 

Mind,  60,  268,  282,  294,  307,  309,  319. 

Ministry,  24,  26,  36,  44,  46,  59,  145,  160. 

Miscellanies,  118. 

Miracles,  366,  372. 

Montaigne,  21,  22,  120. 

Montegut,  Emilc,  119,  271. 
^Morals,  lecture  on,  141. 

Moral  sentiment,  27,  223,  282,  333,  334,  344, 

348,  354,  368,  371,  379. 

^-Mysticism,  237,  280,  284,  286,  314,  317,321, 
325,  348,  351,  363,  365. 


'Nature,  40,  53, 118,  296. 
'•Nature,  40,  43,  237,  239,  241,  245,  269,  281, 
293,  294,  296,  304,  305,  315,  335. 

Necessity,  279,  299,  302,  335,  336,  344. 

Neo-Platonists,  53,  273,  275. 

Nichols,  Professor,  210,  212. 

Norton,  Andrews,  13,  14,  24,  54,  55,  74, 

Norton,  C.  E.,  167. 

o. 

"Optimism,  342,  343,  350. 

Oriental  studies,  85,  283,  372. 

Originality,  209,  216,  236,  253,  271,  306. 
"Over-soul,  53,  59,  238,  274,  276,  288,  310, 
312,  314,  330. 


P. 


Palfrey,  J.  G.,  136. 

Pantheism,  57,  75,  76,  104,  110,  194,  290. 
Parker,  T.,  56, 57,  75, 77,  83, 91, 93, 100, 106, 
129, 159,  211,  212,  232,  290. 


Parker  Fraternity,  160,  163,  358. 

Parnassus,  181. 

Pascal,  22. 

Patriotism,  100. 

Peabody,  Elizabeth,  23,  56,  58,  70,  84, 106, 

306. 

Peace,  62. 

Perpetual  forces,  lecture  on,  204. 
Personal  description,  103,  105,  115,  186, 

190,  193,  194. 
Personal  influence,  103,  105,  108,  159,  189, 

201,  266. 

Personality,  67,  288,  304,  322. 
Philanthropy,  99,  165. 
"Phi  Beta  Kappa  address,  59. 
Philosophy,   127,    168,  187,  196,  268,  280, 
^283. 
Plato,  22,  39,  107,  120,  177,  205,  242,  268, 

272,  348. 
Plotinus,  39,  107,  196,  268,  273,  274,   279, 

296,  317,  323,  325,  348. 
Plutarch,  171. 
Poems,  114. 
Poems,  Select,  178,  185. 
Poetry,  25,  37, 39,  88, 114, 127, 167, 181,  236, 

239,  242,  252,  253. 
Toetry,  lecture  on,  127. 
Polarity,  293,  294,  307,  335,  337. 
Porter,  Noah,  129,  271. 
Prayer,  31,  66,  86,  321,  338,  364,  376,  378. 
Preacher,  207,  263. 
Preacher,  duties  of  the,  67. 
Present  age,  lectures  on,  65. 
Profession,  selection  of,  172. 
Puritan,  a,  200,  236,  237,  271. 


Q. 

Quakers,  35,  323,  331,  371  n. 
Quincy,  E.,  91,  92. 
Quincy,  Josiah,  21. 
Quinet,  Edgar,  114. 


K. 

ladical  Club,  179,  200. 
leading,  ^2,  39,  52,  107,  216. 
leuson,  273.  280.  311,  317.J 


Rectorship,  Glasgow  University,  179. 
lipley,  Ezra,  10,  26,  36,  39. 
lipley,  George,  20,  56,  57,  74,  83,  84,  85, 
91. 


INDEX. 


389 


Ripley,  Mrs.  Samuel,  18,  22,  34, 198. 

Reform,  62,  91,  94,  96,  98,  102,  106. 

Religion,  46,  87,  102, 130, 165,  238,  283,  290 
339,  359,  365,  367,  375,  379, 381,  383. 

Religious  sentiment,  66,  87,  362. 

Religious  attitude  at  present  time,  pref 
ace,  361,  364,  368. 

Representative  Men,  115,  118,  205,  272. 

Retribution,  345,  350. 

Revelation,  213,  216,  286, 297,  318,  321,  323, 
366. 

Review,  Massachusetts  Quarterly,  100. 

Robinson,  Crabbe,  118. 


S. 

Saadi,  171. 

Sanborn,  F.  B.,  19,  27, 181,  260. 

Scale,  273,  296,  300,  309. 

Schelling,  107,  268,  278,  279,  294,  300,  311, 

312,314,317,339,348,352. 
--"Scholar,  address  on  American,  59. 
Scholar,  vocation  of,  59,  64,  162,  270.' 
School,  Alcott's  temple,  58,  92. 
Science,  54,  107,  245,  284,  299,  306. 
Scott,  Walter, .address  on,  170,  229. 
Seer,  a,  201,  269,  245,  359. 
--Self-reliance,  60,  64,  66,  96,  281,  289,  330, 

331,  332,  352. 
-Self-renunciation,  281,  302,  304,  336,  338, 

345,  347,  351,  356. 
Sentiment,  196,  237,  363. 
Sermons,  27,  28,  30,  44,  45,  160. 
Shakspere,  21,  172,  177,  181, 182,  206,  229, 

242,  374. 
Shelley,  228. 
Sickness,  195. 
Silence,  65,  95,  102,  163,  276,  278, 321,  342, 

347. 

Sin,  340,  341. 

Skepticism,  120,  302,  363,  368. 
—Slavery  agitation,  28,  113,  132,  133,  136, 

137,  141,  143,  144,  146, 148, 149. 
Socialism,  85,  95,  97,  100. 
Social  science,  99. 
Society  and  Solitude,  169,  203. 
Solidarite,  145,  342. 
Soul,  67,  268,  272,  276,  278,  289,  310,  319, 

330,  355. 
Soul,  trust  in  the,  64,  98,  102,  283,  330,  355, 

363,  366,  371. 
Southey,  227.      / 


Sphinx,  241. 

Spirit,  42,  238,  268,  287,  295. 

Spiritualism,  285. 

Spirit,  universal,  42,  43,  76,  245,  252,  268, 

284,  286,  288,  294,  2%,  301,  307,  311,  314, 

347,  354. 

Spontaneity,  253,  319,  331,  335. 
Stern,  Daniel,  111. 
Stirling,  J.  H.,  letter  to,  180. 
St.  Theresa,  321. 
Substans,  God  as,  286,  291. 
Sufis,  364. 

Sumner,  Charles,  address  on,  138. 
Sunday  schools,  98. 
Swedenborg,  42,  54,  94,  102, 107, 120,  242, 

279,  323,  331.     - 
-Symbol,  world  as,  237,  269,  276,  283,  305. 

T. 

Table-talk,  lecture  on,  163. 

Tauler,  310,  312,  314,  351. 

Taylor,  Father,  28,  33  n,  93,  164. 

Temperance,  98. 

Tennyson,  181,  228. 

Theologia  Germanica,  352. 

Thoreau,  83-85,  92,  106,  112,  159,  181,  232. 

Threnody,  112,  355. 

Transcendental  Club,  55,  77,  78,  94,  132, 

200. 

'Transcendentalism,  52,  56,  66,  268,  286. 
Transcendentalism  in  New  England,  53, 

56,  66,  74,  77,  81,  92,  93,  108. 
Trust,  322,  338,  348,  350,  355. 
Tyler,  M.  C.,  5,  261. 
Tyndall,  John,  186,  187,  306. 

TJ. 

Unitarians,  8, 11,  68,  76,  164',  361. 
Unity,  282,  286,  290,  299,  301,  313,  349. 

Y. 

Van  Buren,  letter  to  President,  63. 
Veracity,  241,  309. 
Very,  Jones,  59,  93,  181. 
Voluntaries,  152. 

w. 

"Ware,  Henry,  jun.,  26,  27,  68,  69,  71,  72. 
War,  lecture  on,  61. 


390 


INDEX. 


War  of  the  Rebellion,  145,  147,  151, 156,    w"ill  of  God,  96,  291,  363. 


162, 187. 

Webster,  Daniel,  136,  137, 164,  166. 
West  Indies  emancipation,  lecture  on,  133. 
Whipple,  E.  P.,  167,  209,  237,  238,  269. 
Whitman,  Walt,  233. 
Wilkinson,  J.  J.  GK,  227. 
"-Will,  free,  97,  302,  336,  337. 


Wit,  209,  259,  309. 
'^Voman's  suffrage,  91,  99,  123. 
Wood-notes,  245,  248,  249,  287. 
Wordsworth,  23,  34,  53,  107,  115,  117,  181, 

182,  224,  228,  242,  281. 
Worship,  42,  287,  290,  302,  314,  375,  376, 

379,  382. 


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